


The First Taste of Sin

by WeAreVillaneve



Series: First Taste of Sin [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: #AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Violence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Canonical Violence, Sex, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 78,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAreVillaneve/pseuds/WeAreVillaneve
Summary: After the events in Rome where Villanelle severed her ties to Eve, she has moved  on and is now located in a rented New York City townhouse.   She is on the prowl, but sometimes your old kills aren't as dead as you thought they were.





	1. The First Taste of Sin: Only Love Can Hurt Like This

She couldn’t remember her name, but did it really matter? She never remembered their names. Names were unimportant. They would tell her what their name was (probably because they wanted to hear her scream it during the sex), but she would always shut them down.

  
Names were not merely names. Names had power and within power comes control. She would not give her control away. Not again. Never again. The last time she did someone had died.  
  
By her own hand.  


Villanelle was bored by these shallow women and the shallower men she occasionally brought home with her. The women always wanted to talk, to admit, to confess all their most deeply hidden desires and depraved fantasies. The men just wanted to flatter and fuck her. Though she much preferred the women, she was disinterested in listening to the sad stories of desperate housewives and bi-curious college girls. All she wanted from them was their sweet, soft flesh.  


Some might protest or at least make an attempt to take her control away, and Villanelle would reply coldly, _“It is essential you understand this, so please pay attention as I will not repeat myself. Here are the house rules: My house. My rules.”_

The disdain and unaffected way she said these words looking directly in their eyes made it clear she was a serious woman. If it didn’t sink in, she would kick them out and they could take the disgusting, smelly subway home and no fucks would be given.

__

Tonight, her sweet tooth craved something different and she prowled a few bars before deciding tonight’s guest would be a stately black woman. She was an attorney at a prestigious law office and was angling to get on the partnership track. At least she could if only one of the old bastards with their name on the outside of the building finally shriveled up, turned into dust and blew away. 

Fueled by a few gross apple martinis, the woman had giggled until she snorted as Villanelle looked on in weary bewilderment. These women always wanted to talk talk talk about their dull jobs and fat husbands and ungrateful children and it was all SO BORING!!!

All Villanelle required was a quick, one-and-done, smell ya later fuck. Nothing more. But she liked the contrast of dark skin against her pale skin and besides, this woman wore her hair in ringlets of curls and Villanelle really liked women with curly hair.

“Let’s go. I just called for a Lyft.” Villanelle fished into the inner pocket of her leather jacket, peeled a $50 off a bankroll and threw it on the table. The woman trailed behind very curious and slightly aroused. Villanelle placed a warm hand on her conquest's knee as she gazed out the window at the traffic.

“This is all yours?” the woman squealed as they strode through Villanelle’s townhouse on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. 

“No. I’m in the city for business and I was tired of hotels,” she replied dropping her keys on the counter as she opened the refrigerator.

The woman whistled as she gazed around the townhouse. “You must be doing well for yourself to afford a place like this,” her eyes widening at the spacious kitchen and finely appointed living room.

“Hmmm?” Villanelle murmured. She turned and produced a bottle of La Grande Dame Rose. Not her favorite, but the name suited her. “Hand me two flutes would you?”

Without a corkscrew Villanelle expertly opened the champagne and generously filled the flutes. The hands that could snap a neck were capable of popping a cork with the same ridiculous ease.

The woman smiled at Villanelle and accepted the glass. She gazed at the bubbling liquid and back to the young Russian who was dressed in something red, lacy and hella-expensive. She liked what she saw as she tiled the glass to her lips, Villanelle did nothing to break the silence as she sipped her glass. 

There it was again. That maddening itch they could never scratch. But Villanelle could scratch it. Scratch it so good they would pray for the itch to never end. This was almost too easy the assassin thought.

“You know, it occurs to me I never got your name.” She tugged at a strand of her curly locks.

A knowing smirk crept over Villanelle’s stunning features. The sheep was practically begging for the wolf to devour it. 

“That’s because I didn’t give it,” she replied and sat beside the woman on the plum colored Lyre Chesterfield sofa. 

The woman opened her mouth to expose some impressive dental work, but before she could speak, Villanelle placed her index finger over the woman’s lips and shook her head no.

Next, she placed her hand under the woman’s chin and gently silenced her with a soft kiss. She held her mouth over the woman’s and began to kiss her harder. She felt the black woman’s body heave and rise with excitement. Villanelle’s left hand found the woman’s right breast and she expertly stroked her nipples erect.

“Oh—GOD!” the woman whispered weakly.

“God has nothing to do with this,” Villanelle hissed into her ear as she alternated between kissing Eve-Not-Eve’s neck and shoulders.

Her left hand groped the woman’s groin as she began to rub on her clit and her panties grew damp. She varied the tempo and pressure as the woman’s breathing became louder and she began to thrash about on the sofa.

“Please,’ she moaned. “Don’t stop. Oh, that feels so fucking good.”

Villanelle stopped.

Eve-Not-Eve’s eyes went wide. “Wh—what’s wrong? Why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Villanelle said. “Not here. This sofa is expensive and a bitch to get pussy juice off of.”

“Then why…?”

Villanelle stood up and pivoted away from Eve-Not-Eve. She picked up the flutes.

“Upstairs,” she commanded, all sweetness banished from her voice. “Bring the bottle.”

\----------------------------------

II.

Eve-Not-Eve padded up the steps behind Villanelle in a state of euphoric arousal. _Goddamn, this white bitch could kiss!_ What else could she do with that mouth? Her nipples were beginning to tingle again.

The lights were off in the master bedroom. Villanelle had moved everything out except the king-size bed with the metal headboard. There were two other bedrooms in the townhouse and every closet and drawer were crammed full of the designer clothes, hats, shoes and jewelry she had purchased with M16 and The Twelve’s blood money.

It was also where she kept her guns, knives and poisons. The lingerie and special fun toys in a foot locker in a corner of the bedroom. There was a serrated knife taped under the lid. She had space to sleep, fuck and exercise. What else did she need?

“Get on the bed,” she instructed the woman. She shook her hair loose of the tight bun it had been in. She did not look as the woman crawled on top of the cool red silk sheets.

“Do not move.” Eve-Not-Eve froze in place. Slightly afraid to find out what would happen if she did move, but desperately anxious to find out.

Villanelle slipped out of her clothes and stood still for a moment as the woman admired her slim, but toned arms and legs and cute little ass. 

She whirled around, her hair whipping past her face, as she pounced like an angry tiger on her helpless prey. With practiced agility, she landed on the outside of Eve-Not-Eve’s thighs and straddled her. Villanelle bent down over Eve-Not-Eve as her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders and brought her face close to the woman.

“You’re MINE!” It was a low purr, but a purr backed up with the promise of sharp teeth if she responded incorrectly. 

“Yes. Yes I am,” Eve-Not-Eve whispered back. “Don’t hurt me.”

Villanelle laughed. “I will not hurt you, _mon cher._ But I am going to fuck you like you have never been fucked before. Would you like that?" 

“Yes. I would like that very much,” the woman gasped. It sounded like a plea.

“Good. Very good,” Villanelle said with a mocking lilt, “But first things first. I have not told you my name and I have completely forgotten yours.”

Eve-Not-Eve opened her mouth to say, “My name is...” before Villanelle’s hand clamped down on her mouth.

‘I didn’t ask for your name. I don’t give a shit what your name is. I will tell you what your name is.” 

“What is my name?” Eve-Not-Eve asked in a quivering, timid voice. The stiffness of her nipples and not-totally uncomfortable warmth in her panties overruled her fear.

With a near-Satanic grin on her face, Villanelle removed her hand, ran her tongue over her teeth and said, “Your name is...”

Villanelle stopped in mid-sentence. Something was wrong. _Really wrong_. She had learned through harsh experience to trust her instincts and at the moment they were running in the red. 

Someone was in the room. Villanelle could feel a presence. Whomever it was hadn’t moved an inch. They had barely displaced the air by exhaling. 

_My guns are in the other room. Fuccccckkkk!_

A soft voice broke the silence. “Why don’t you finish what you were saying?”

Villanelle eyes had almost adjusted to the darkness. She could see the bare outline of a human body standing in the open closet. She couldn’t cover the distance like she had jumping on Eve-Not-Eve, but she recalled there were two 35lb kettle weights in the corner. Perfect for pulping a skull.

“Don’t you fucking move,” the voice said. Villanelle’s eyes narrowed as she heard the click of the safety flicked off. The intruder was a woman and her voice seemed...familiar?

She froze in place. Eve-Not-Eve had already done so and was trying to burrow deeply into the mattress as though she was the world’s sexiest mole.

“Are you going to tell her what her name would have been?” the voice inquired pleasantly.

Villanelle said nothing. The intruder was a talker. Talking gave her time. She was working out the math and logistics to get to this asshole, but didn’t know if she could total them up before a bullet tore through her heart. 

“Uh-uh. Don’t be naughty.”

A silenced shot whistled inches over her head and lodged in a wall. To Villanelle’s surprise, the quivering woman on her bed didn’t scream at all. She only whimpered louder.

“Shut up,” Villanelle snarled.

“Better idea,” the voice said. “You shut up and I’ll fill in the blank for your little bed buddy. Get off her and move toward that wall. Then put your nose up against the fucking wall. Move an inch and I put the next bullet in your skull,”

“Don’t be a dick.”

Now it was Villanelle’s turn for her eyes to open wide. _It can't be..._

The voice stepped out of the closet, crossed the floor and plopped down with a grunt on the foot locker/toy box. 

“Hey you,” the voice said. “Know what she was going to call your dumb ass?”

The woman didn’t unclench her knuckles she had crammed into her face. 

“Wh—wh--what was she going to call me?”

“Eve,” the voice said with a humorless chuckle, “She was going to call you, Eve.”

A gloved had reached over and snapped on a standing lamp. It was only a 40-watt bulb so it didn’t throw much light. It threw enough for Villanelle to turn her head and look over her shoulder. 

And she gazed into the lovely face of Eve Polastri. 

“You’re not dead,” Villanelle croaked.

“No. I’m not dead, Oksana,” Eve said, “Not from a lack of you trying to kill me.”

“You two know each other?” Eve-Not-Eve whispered/whimpered.

“Yep. Sure do,” Eve replied. “And since we need to get caught up on things, would you mind terribly getting up and getting the fuck out of here?”

Eve-Not-Eve peeled herself off the sheets and warily sidestepped the Asian woman with amazing hair and a scary gun. 

“Thanks, honeybunch,” Eve said to Eve-Not-Eve. “By the way, where do you work at? Don’t lie to me. God hates a liar and so do I.”

Tears welling up in her eyes and her bladder screaming for release, Eve-Not-Eve stammered, “D—d—Davis, Carmichael and King.” 

“Good. Now if you would be so kind as to get your shoes and purse and lock the door behind yourself and don’t call the police and forget all about this, I won’t have to crawl on top of a roof and put a bullet in your pretty head from a great distance.” Villanelle was familiar with Eve’s sense of humor and found no humor in her remarks.

The woman ran out of the room and took the steps two at a time. She decided peeing on herself was better than squeezing so much as a drop on the stairs. Seconds later, the alarm system chirped as the door opened and slammed shut. 

“Alone at last,” Eve said cheerily, “Hi, Oksana! Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to mess up your night. She was kind of hot.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

III.

“May I put my hands down, Eve and maybe put on a robe?”

“I don’t see any reason why not.”

Villanelle turned around. She stared down at her former infatuation who had her finger on the trigger of a gun pointed at her. She’s aiming for the center of mass. Not to wound, but to kill. Good girl. 

But she hadn’t lost control yet. It only seemed like she had. 

“That is not a standard issue weapon for MI6 agents, Eve," she murmured as she picked up a robe lying at the foot of the bed.

The smile did not fade from Eve’s face. 

“You’re right, Oksana. This little bastard is called a Taurus Judge. It’s too big for concealed carry, but I like the fact it can use both 45 Colt cartridges and a 410 shotgun round.”

“You must be planning on blowing apart something big and vicious. It’s a little bit much for wetwork.”

The smile remained glazed in place. “Big, no. Vicious, definitely.”

Villanelle kept her voice even. She had already won a small concession from Eve by allowing her to lower her arms. Maybe she could get another one that would place Eve’s throat within her grasp.

“May I sit down?”

“Yeah.”

Villanelle sat down on the side of the bed opposite of Eve. “I have so many questions...”

Eve raised an index finger to her lips and made a “shush” sound. “I’m not here to answer your questions, Oksana.” 

“Then why are you here? Rome was over a year ago.”

“Oksana, why are you so far away from me? Come to the other side of the bed, _petite amie_.”

Villanelle flinched at Eve’s bad French accent. She rose and walked to the other side. Eve scooted back a safe distance. The gun did not waver. 

“Don’t do anything stupid, Oksana.” She’s throwing my words back in my face, the assassin mused sourly. 

Villanelle felt something familiar, yet foreign. She was angry—nearly enraged, actually---by Eve holding a gun on her. The last time they were together they had just killed Aaron Peele and Raymond and were going to run off to Alaska to eat spaghetti so neither The Twelve nor MI6 could ever manipulate and turn them against each other. 

_It was all going to be so amazing._ Or it would have been if only Eve had accepted the gift Villanelle had offered her. Villanelle had a headache and felt slightly disoriented in a way she had not felt since she took those shitty drugs in Amsterdam. 

“I know what you’re thinking, Oksana.”

Villanelle looked into the eyes of Eve Polastri. They were cold and devoid of light. 

“What am I thinking, Eve?”

“You’re thinking, how the fuck am I still alive? You’re thinking where have I been for the past 15 months? You’re thinking how much closer can you inch up before you can jump my bones before I fill yours with bullets?

“You’re thinking, will Eve shoot me and walk away the way I walked away from her in the ruins?”

The room fell silent for a minute, then two. 

“Is this supposed to be my turn to be shot or are you just going to stab me on the right side this time, Mrs. Polastri?”

Eve spat out a bitter little laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, Oksanaaaaaaaa,” dragging out the last vowel.

Her restrained anger ignited into blood-red fury, “MY NAME IS NOT OKSANA! MY NAME IS VILLANELLE!”

“Oh dear. Did I touch a nerve?’ Eve crossed her legs and snickered in Villanelle’s reddening face. 

“Go fuck yourself, Eve. I do not love you anymore.” She was ready to take her chances and rush the bitch. 

Eve recognized Villanelle was about to get lethal and her demeanor changed. She stood up, clicked on the safety, placed the gun on the floor and kicked it into a corner.

“I don’t need the gun. I had to get your attention. Do I have your attention----Villanelle?” 

She sat back down on the foot locker. 

A small bubble of triumph was bubbling up in her throat, but Villanelle swallowed it down. Without the gun it wouldn’t be difficult to distract Eve long enough for her to grab it and put a period on this strange relationship for good. 

“You don’t need the gun? That’s a little arrogant, don’t you think, Eve? 

“I suppose you’re right, Villanelle. I guess I’m really in trouble now, huh?” Eve’s voice had not trembled. Her hands were not shaking. Her face remained impassively serene and she could not read what was going on in her head by staring in her eyes. 

_Eve was wearing her hair up. She knew how that pissed her off._

Eve was not frightened. Not in the least. Not sitting here unarmed in the bedroom of an assassin with so many kills to her credit Villanelle no longer recalled the exact number. She was SO confused. What had happened to that sloppy, scared little mouse?

_Why aren’t you frightened, Eve? Don’t you know how many messy, excruciating ways I can break, torture and butcher you? Maybe I should show you who is in control here._

__

__

Villanelle rose to her feet. “Get out of my house.”

Eve said nothing. She had suddenly found something intensely interesting on the floor. 

“Did you hear me, Eve? Get the fuck out before I kill you.”

Eve said nothing. Her gaze flicked to the floor. Villanelle was puzzled by this---this--this _disrespect._ Who did Eve think she was anyway?

“I’m going to have to kill you better this time.” Villanelle took a step toward her unwanted guest. In a blur of motion Eve sprung to her feet and raised her eyes to stare directly at Villanelle who halted in momentary confusion. 

“Eve…?”

“You asked me why I was here. There are a few reasons, but as I don’t want to bore you before you try to kill me, I’ll give you a short explanation. Then you can do what you must.”

Villanelle had forgotten about the champagne bottle on the nightstand which was only half-full, but full enough to bash Eve’s brains in until they leaked out of her ears. 

“You have five minutes and then I’m going to break your neck.”

“I only need four.” Eve’s dark eyes were boring holes into her.

“After you shot me and left me to die, I was unconscious for a while. I almost lost half of my blood supply dribbling out of that little hole you put in me.”

Villanelle sighed impatiently waiting for Eve to shut up so she could end her. 

“A tour group came through later that afternoon. The guide called for an ambulance. Had I laid there another few hours that would have been it and I wouldn’t be here in this lovely townhouse with you. I went home and spent months in the hospital followed by physical therapy. I emphasize physical therapy because MI6 doesn’t offer much in the way of emotional support or psychological assistance for agents who have been involved in or the victim of a shooting incident. You end up assisting with whatever anti-depression medicine you can beg, borrow or steal and multiple glasses of whiskey to wash it down”. 

Villanelle was growing sick of this shit. She was ready to kill Eve and get back to being accustomed to not having her loitering in her thoughts, loins and heart. 

“Initially, Carolyn wasn’t going to hire me back. _Are you quite finished with your odd obsession with Villanelle, Eve?_ I replied ‘yes, mum,” saluted, and she gave me a last chance. Probably just to rub my nose in it. I sat at my desk and just did the job. I wrote reports nobody read. I looked into assassins who were total fuck-ups. I went home to my empty house and did my best to blend into the wallpaper.”

“This sounds terribly tragic for you,” Villanelle said with a contemptuous smirk. Eve still wouldn't look away. 

“Shit happens. Sometimes bad things happen to good people like Bill because a psychopath stabs him in the chest and good things happen to bad people like Frank who was a total dick swab. Until his dick got chopped off by that same psychopath, that is.”

An involuntary giggle bubbled up out of Villanelle’s pretty mouth, but if it bothered Eve, she gave no indication. 

“I made myself invisible at MI6. I cut everyone off, even Kenny and Jess. Elena took the hint and stopped calling, Hugo transferred out and Carolyn barely said five words to me on a good day, but that was no great loss. I’m pretty good at being invisible.”

“Then why are you here, Eve instead of home eating shepherd’s pie and enjoying your next five-minute fuck with Niko?”

Eve muttered something. Villanelle replied, “Pardon me? You’re not looking at me and you mumbled. What did you say?”

“Niko--no longer matters.”

“What? How?" Villanelle replied in earnest surprise. "What happened? Did he have an accident?”

Eve frowned as if she was searching for the right word. “Accident? Yeah. You might say that...”

Villanelle’s eyes widened in dumbstruck awe, _“Might?_ Why is that, Eve?” What happened to Niko?”

Eve looked up and stared coldly at Villanelle. She did not like that stare. Not even a little bit.

“Niko was in the way. Now he’s not," she shrugged. "End of story.”

Villanelle started to speak. “Eve, please tell me...”

“My four minutes are up, Villanelle.” Eve’s voice was flat and matter of fact. “Time for you to kill me again.” 

“Eve...”

“Don’t wound me this time, okay? When I stabbed you I was a bumbling novice. When you shot me you were the trained professional. There’s nothing professional about missing my major organs and leaving me laid up in bed for three months.”

“This time do the job right, Villanelle.”

Was Eve really suggesting she hadn't really _tried_ to kill her? Villanelle was insulted. "You came all the way to New York to tell me, I'm a fuck-up like those second-string losers and amateurs, you investigated after you went crawling back to Carolyn?" She snorted a humorless laugh. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to feel sorry for you and beg you for forgiveness?"

Eve stood up, She took a step forward and approached Villanelle and without the slightest bit of fear of what she could do to her.

“Oh, not at all, my dear; It really was for the best. I learned that time is not lost and it’s not found. Time is made and I didn’t make time for me. I married too soon and stayed much too long with a man I liked, but didn’t really love and to make him happy I didn't leave because it was comfortable, ”

"I thought I was being good. Now I don’t care anymore. Love me. Hate me. It’s all the same thing to me”

There was something in how Eve was saying this that struck a chord within Villanelle, except she had never tried pretending to be anything but what she was. Her anger was ferocious, but it was giving way to an understanding that this woman approaching her tonight was vastly different from the one she had shot that one terrible day in Rome. Despite her exasperated fury with Eve, she was vaguely excited by this situation. It was kind of... _intriguing_ and reminded her why she had become fixated on this woman in the first place. 

_You want me to be a mess._

__

__

__

__

_You want me to be scared._

_But I'm like you now._

_I'm not afraid of anything._

But Villanelle was. She was afraid of _this_ Eve Polastri. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

IV.

This was Eve as she was meant to be. A colder, crueler and much more dangerous Eve. An exciting Eve who was far more confident in her ability to survive pain after having had given and received it in turn. This was an Eve who was capable of providing her with incredible pleasure or excruciating pain.

Eve grabbed Villanelle by the shoulders and pulled her close. Then she pushed her back against the wall and leaned in. She was not gentle.

"Say it!" she snapped.

"Wh-what do you want me to say, Eve?" she stammered, "That I love you?"

"No. That's not what I want you to say. I want you to say what you said to me in the ruins. Now say it."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

Eve slapped her. Hard. "Liar. Don't do it again."

The blow had startled Villanelle. It didn't really hut, but she stared at Eve with puzzlement as her anger was fading away. She was actually a bit anxious and uncertain. _What is this?_. Is this what Eve felt when I pressed the blade to her throat? Will she kill me? Even though she carried no weapons, Villanelle wasn't completely certain Eve needed one. 

This sensation of uncertainty was new, but not entirely displeasing to her. She surrendered to it. Her breathing became shallow, ragged and she sighed the way she had sighed behind the hotel door when Eve had nearly caught her. Her mind was still resistant, but her body was responding to Eve's show of strength.

She was saying something. What was Eve saying and how could she be so close and yet her words so far away?

“We have wasted too much time already, Villanelle. There’s nobody for me but you and there’s nobody for you but me. Remember when you said, _‘You’re mine?’_ You were wrong. I wasn’t yours then because I was trying to hold on to the comfortable, safe lie my life was instead of the uncomfortable, dangerous truth being with you would be.” 

"But things have changed,"

"NOW SAY IT!" she spat.

"You're mine," Villanelle whispered.

Eve grinned. "That's right. I'm yours. All yours. _Only yours._ And you are mine and _only_ mine. Body, mind and soul. I want nobody else but you. I need nobody else but you. I feel things with you the same way you feel things with me.”

“We are the same.” _Finally._ And she pressed her lips to Villanelle's.

"Baby..." was all the assassin could gasp in response

Tomorrow there would be time to talk about what would come next. They had much to discuss about guns and knives and enemies and what was to be done about them, but for now and for here, those were irrelevant details. In the moment, Villanelle was speaking to Eve in body talk. She had never felt this with anyone else. Not even sweet Anna or Nadia. Uncertainty. Excitement. Risk. The possibility of many nights of pleasure and pain in the future overwhelmed her. 

And the possibility of love. Love with this beautiful woman whose mouth covered her face in sweet kisses. Love with this beautiful woman who was moaning her name as Villanelle's hands teased her nipples erect. Love with this beautiful woman who caused her to gasp in sudden ecstasy as she slipped one hand from embracing her and probing her warm flesh until it stopped just below her waist as two fingers slipped into her damp panties seeking the treasure nestled between her thighs.

_"Ohhhhhhhhhhh...FUCK, Eve!"_

Eve smiled broadly, then dipped her head to suck on Villanelle's nipple.

"Yes, baby?" The lust practically dripped like the sweetest honey from lips.

This had to be love. Only love could hurt like this.


	2. The Second Taste of Sin: Everything Means Everything.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the awkwardness of their reunion in New York, Villanelle and Eve are keeping a close eye on each other, but not too close as neither fully trusts the other. But it's summer in the city and it's too hot for things that were frozen not to thaw out.
> 
> So they are on the last stop of a pub crawl. Eve has something to tell Villanelle and what it is both defines what "Will you give me everything I want?" (the sexiest line of the sexiest episode of Season 2) means to her and is a hard reset of their entire relationship. No lie.

I.  
“We are here. Come along, Eve.” She nodded to the Lyft driver. He double-parked and raced around to open the rear passenger door. He flashed the pair a thumbs up sign.

  
“It’s a slow night, but will you need a ride back?” the driver said with a gap-toothed grin. Villanelle had tipped extra in order to avoid the bigger potholes and he was eager to see if she was still interested in his services.

  
“Yeah. Meet us back here in two hours.”

Doffing an imaginary cap, he closed the car door. “Will do, ma’am. Enjoy yourselves.”

Eve gave him a wan smile, but Villanelle had already dismissed him from her mind.

“Where are we? What is this place?”

Villanelle pointed up to the sign. _The Whiskey Ward_. Apparently, this woman knew all the best bars in New York and Eve was dizzy from trying to keep up with her on their pub crawl. She doubted she could even catch up with Villanelle.

“I thought you were a champagne drinker?”

“I am, but champagne is not a social drink. Bourbon is, and I feel social tonight.”

“I can’t handle bourbon,” Eve said. “Do they have wine too?”

Villanelle sighed, “Yes, my little wino. They have sangria and cocktails too.”

“Oh, good.”

Of course, Villanelle was a bourbon drinker. She was constantly surprising Eve without even trying.

* * *

II.

For the first 30 minutes, they sat at a table away from the chatter around the bar and the pool table. Not much was said. The sangria was sweet and cold. Villanelle was on her third pour of Booker’s.  
Eve broke the silence.

  
“What is your plan, Villanelle?”

She looked up from the glass and contemplated Eve’s odd question for a moment before responding.

“Ripping off your shirt and tearing your panties off with my teeth was my plan, but I’m giving some consideration to tying you to a four-poster bed and having my way with you with some hot candle wax and a big dildo.”

  
Eve smiled a wicked little smile, “Oh my goodness. That sounds absolutely disgusting, nasty and demented. Fun, too.”

  
“Let’s go.” Villanelle pushed her chair away and began to tap the app to summon their designated driver. She had almost reached the door when she noticed Eve hadn’t moved from the table.

  
Eve remained where she was arms folded across her chest and an irritated look on her face.

_Jesus Fucking Christ. I have never had to work harder to get a bitch into bed._ Villanelle looked up at the blades of the ceiling fan, wished they were sharp enough to decapitate this annoying woman, and rolled her eyes. She walked back to the table.

“When I say ‘let’s go’ sweet Eve, it usually means I am ready to go. Is there a problem?”

  
Eve unfolded her hands and gestured to the empty chair, “I haven’t finished my wine, so please have a seat.”

  
Simmering with frustration, Villanelle flopped in the chair like an angry teenager denied the car keys.

  
“This is really excellent wine.”

“It’s piss. I have much better wine back at the townhouse. I also have a toy box full of fun things I can put in you and you can put in me. Doesn’t that sound better than hanging around here watching you slurping down your fourth or fifth glass?”

  
“I like it precisely because you don’t, dear.” The smile had blossomed into a complete grin. "Or are you frustrated because I'm not slurping on you?"

  
This did not please Villanelle. Withering sarcasm was their preferred weapon, but Eve was enjoying the moment a little _too_ much. It seemed she somehow got it in her head she was top dog in this strange relationship. Villanelle wasn’t sure she wanted a power-sharing arrangement with Eve.

  
This would not do. Defiance was not something she was tolerant of. It was not permitted. Yet somewhere deep inside she was a bit excited by Eve’s insolence. Not a lot excited but getting there.

_Is this what uncertainty feels like? Is this what this woman is doing to me? Making me FEEL things?_

* * *

III.

“How much time do you give to thinking about the future, Villanelle?” Eve cocked her head slightly and she looked very serious.

  
“I don’t.”

“Why? Doesn’t the future mean anything to you?”

“Not really. I make my plans minute-by-minute. It makes it easier to change them when something goes wrong.” Villanelle said in a low mumble. She didn’t have to fake her boredom either. Her plan for a moment like this was designed around Eve naked and horizontal in her bed.

“Then what sort of future could we ever have together?”

  
_Trapped. And I walked right into it. Well played, Eve. Every time I underestimate you you make me regret it._

  
“I am a professional assassin, Eve. I am a wanted woman in seven countries. Your employers at M16 have hunted me, tried to kill me, then they recruited me before they abandoned me. My employers, The Twelve have tired of me and marked me for retirement. I do not live a life that leads me to put money away in a 401K or start picking up strays to settle into my future as a crazy cat lady.”

  
“I would prefer to die at the hands of my enemies than to wither away and rust as a crazy cat lady, Eve”

_That sounded good. Yeah. Take that, Eve._

“But what does that even mean? That we’re going to spend what’s left of our lives running and hiding from the authorities and some massive global organization until they finally catch us and put bullets in our heads?” Eve said, “And in between those times, we’ll be between the sheets rolling and tumbling?”

“I’d like to offer you a better deal, baby, “Villanelle smirked tipping her glass to the sky, and drank it down enjoying the hot burn of the 120 proof bourbon. “But as deals go it’s not the worst one you could make.”

  
Eve reached down and slid a warm hand on Villanelle’s knee. She said nothing and while her touch was soft, her lovely face was hard and cold. Villanelle recognized that look: a hungry, predatory look and one which would devour her whole. It was her own look when she would pin a temporary lover by their wrists and do with them as she pleased.

Eve s-l-o-w-l-y stroked Villanelle’s knee then traced her fingers around it, eased up to the thigh and then around the lean meat of the inner thigh and slid a finger between her damp panties, then two, and inside her and---OH FUCK.

  
“I’m very interested in this deal, baby,” she purred in a deep sexy voice as Villanelle felt a surge of pleasantly wet sensations to extinguish the bonfire between her legs. “And I intend of taking full advantage of that deal. Tonight.”

  
Then she yanked her hand away out of groaning woman's pussy and licked her fingers clean. Villanelle’s eyes snapped open in shocked disbelief.

  
“But not just yet. There was a question on the table.”

“Dammit!” Villanelle exclaimed pushed her chair away from Eve muttering curses under her breath.

  
“I gave you an answer.”

“I don’t like your answer, Villanelle.”

  
What did she want her to tell her? That they would fall madly in bed and then murder their way across the globe taking out anyone who stood between them and their mad love? That she would fight and kill and die for Eve? She knew she would, but would Eve do the same for her?

She had been here before in Rome when Eve had shit all over her testimonials of love. It had hurt her then and she was still feeling the hurt now. It wasn’t a physical pain, but a phantom one where the injury has scabbed over and healed up and you nearly forget it ever happened.

But the scar was always there to remind you it had.

“Then don’t like it,” she sneered. “I can take care of us. I can protect us. We can run a long time and far away from anyone who wants to hurt us. This is what I can promise you for the future. But what I can also promise you is one day I won’t be there, and they will come for you in the morning. Or they will come for you at night. But they **will** come for you and you will have to be prepared to do to them what you did to Raymond.”

  
“I will kill any one who comes at us. I will empty my guns and then I will stab them and strangle them with my bare hands. Nobody will ever take from me what is mine without paying dearly for it.”

  
“I know _I_ can kill like that, Eve. I’m not so sure you can.”

Eve pulled her chair next to Villanelle. She reached up and caressed her cheek.

  
_“I could.”_

_“I would.”_

_“I will._ ”

Villanelle’s eyes widened in surprise and Eve's pulse hadn't gone up or down by a single digit.

* * *

IV.

  
Eve held her half-full glass up to the light and gazed through the red liquid as if there were answers within the fermented grapes.

She sloshed it around and then sipped before speaking again.

“As you recall, I told you Niko was out of the way. Out of OUR way.”

Pause. Licking of lips. A moment of hesitation. “Yes, you did Eve. But you didn’t say why?”

“Why? That’s easy. Niko hit me. He hit me because of you.”

Villanelle muttered, “Wait---what? HE HIT YOU? Why? Because I killed that annoying Gemma? He’s still upset about that nobody? I would think he’d be happy you came back to his hideous mustache.”

Her raised voice and the loud burst of Eve’s laughter prompted a nearby couple to swivel their heads in the direction of the dimly-lit corner table they were sitting at, but the wordless, withering You-Don’t-Want-To-Fuck-With-Me look Villanelle shot them made them hurriedly turn back to their own conversation.

  
“So he hit you.”

“Yeah. He hit me. Twice.”

“That motherfucking bastard!” Villanelle shrieked. “That fucking bastard HIT you?”

Eve had never seen Villanelle so enraged. She was angry enough to walk to the East River and swim all the way back to England with a knife clenched between her teeth killing sharks for the practice.

  
Villanelle looked like a woman possessed. Nobody fucks with what belongs to her. Not without paying a terrible Price.

  
“Baby, baby…please calm down.” Eve tried to wrap her arms around Villanelle, but she pushed them away.

  
“No! Fuck that! Fuck Niko!” She was seething. “I’m going back and I am going to cut off his dick and make him eat it in a fucking shepherd’s pie!”

The nosy couple threw some money on the table and hurried out the door. Now _everyone_ in the bar was trying too hard to ignore the tall blonde who was cursing loudly in multiple languages.

  
“Villanelle, calm down," Eve pleaded, but Villanelle was not calmed. She was going to defend the woman who possessed her heart.

  
“Eve…” Villanelle swept the smaller woman up in her arms and clutched her tight. “You are mine! Not Niko’s. I should have killed him when I killed his whore. I didn’t because I was afraid you would be angry with me, but now I see you would have forgiven me.”

She was crying--no, she was bawling and she buried Eve’s face and lips in kisses. “My beautiful woman. My heart. My soul.”

  
It almost sounded like a prayer.

“This is my fault. I didn’t know what to do in Rome when you walked away. I shot you and then I walked away. I knew you would not die, Eve. You are stronger than you know,” Villanelle was kissing her ears and nose and cheeks and lips, and Eve. not minding the public display of affection, was close to screaming in sheer joy.

At last, Villanelle was on her/in her/with her just as Eve had dreamed and rubbed herself to sleep over many a cold winter’s night in London. This was _so_ much better than her wettest of wet dreams and she was sinking into totally sensory overload from this shameless act of pure passion and lascivious love.  
  
If Eve didn't stop her, she was going to have a _screaming, squirting orgasm right-here-on-the-fucking-floor_ and then someone would definitely call the cops to hose down these two sex addicts. 

  
“Nobody will hurt you again, Eve.” She pulled back and wagged a finger, “Please believe me that The Twelve and Carolyn Martens will never hurt you again. I’ll kill them all before I allow it.”

  
“I believe you, Oksana,” she peered over Villanelle’s shoulder and shrugged hers as if this was an everyday occurrence. Since this was New York everyone went back to their conversations and shut out the oddly-matched pair who were lowering the volume while their public display of affection went on.

  
“I don’t like it when anybody else calls me by my real name but for you, I’ll make an exception. Now get your purse. I’m going to take you home and I am going to make love to you all night and all day.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Eve said with an exaggerated frown. “And here I thought I was in for The Fuck of the Century.”  
Villanelle smiled.

“Not tonight, Eve. We will have plenty of time to fuck as long and as hard and as often as you want.” The softness in her was guileless and not play-acting in the least. Eve knew when Villanelle was doing that, and this was no act.

  
“Tonight, I am going to love you like you deserve to be. I will love you in a way Niko never could and will never have the chance to. Because I am going to kill him. With my bare hands.”

_But not easy and not nicely. Niko will suffer before he dies. I will take my time and make it hurt. He will beg me for a mercy I will not give him. He will plead that I end his suffering quickly and I will not. He will die in agony and it will be by inches. Villanelle swore this would happen to the Polish pig just before she gutted him like one._

  
Eve placed her hand against Villanelle’s cheek. She brushed a single tear from her lover’s porcelain skin.

  
“I DO believe you, baby,” Eve said as she took Villanelle’s hands and pressed them against the heart she feared might burst through her chest. “I always knew you would fight for me. That’s why I’m here. I’m here to fight for you.”

  
Villanelle’s eyes had been blood-red from rage, but now were bloodshot from weeping. She rapidly shook her head from side-to-side.

  
“You aren’t ready. Not yet. You can’t fight for me. You can’t even fight for yourself, Eve. But I can teach you how. I can’t turn you into an assassin, but I can show you how not to get assassinated. I warn you now, Eve. This will not be easy or fun. I will not be a kind teacher. I will push you harder than anyone has ever pushed you. Your body will be in pain, but change is a painful process.”

  
She hoisted Eve up to her and grabbed and squeezed Eve’s jeans-covered butt cheeks. Eve giggled girlishly.

  
“Thank goodness you are not a typical fat-ass American waddling around stuffing bacon and cheese and potatoes in your mouth all the time. You’re just soft and a little flabby and probably haven’t had to do a push-up since high school, but I can fix that.”

"I’m fine with it. Whatever you think is best, Oksana." A displeased frown spread across the blonde's thin lips.

  
“When I am working, I am _Villanelle_. Oksana is o.k. only when I am with you and you only. When we have a threesome or foursome you cannot call me my real name. Names have power and giving mine away makes me weak, so don’t do it. Otherwise I will have to kill our guests and that could get really messy.”

Eve was still processing the sexy prospect of a threesome or a foursome being a bit premature when they hadn't even got to the one-on-one yet, but shook the mental image away and breathed in. _Get it together and focus, Eve._

"That night when you came to me—came for me, actually---in the kitchen and you pressed the knife against me…"

“When was that, Eve? I have spent a lot of time in your shitty kitchen. Do be specific.”

“The second time, asshole. When you came dressed to kill complete with a veil and a sharp knife you ran down my body.”

“Oh yes. Good times.”

  
You told me ‘I’m expensive.’ You asked me ‘Will you give me everything I want?’

You said ‘yes.’ But you didn’t give me everything.

_"This_ is everything, darling. Everything means everything. This has been the longest time we’ve ever spent together without trying to bullshit or kill each other. I don’t know if this is going to work. _Nothing_ about this should work. There an age gap between us. We don’t like the same music or food or maybe even the same sex. You’re not only bisexual, you’re flamboyantly bisexual whereas I always thought I was heterosexual, but fuck, now I’m pretty sure I don’t want to ever be touched by another man again. I am both blinded by confusion, and seeing things so clearly with brand new eyes."

  
"It’s new and it’s scary. but I'm happy and I want to lean in and level up into it."

  
Villanelle snorted a laugh and Eve felt as though a threatening storm had passed by.

“Okay, you were doing SO well, but you lost me when you turned it into a TED talk at the end. You are typical for a 40-something. You get excited and then you can't finish what you started."

  
Eve gaped open-mouthed at Villanelle’s deadpan expression then tossed her tousled curls back and roared in laughter, “God, you are such a brat!”

Villanelle leaned in and kissed Eve. Kissed her like it meant something to her.

“I could get used to this, Eve. I want to.”

"Then I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about Niko."

  
_I wasn’t worried. I was concerned I wouldn’t be able to decide if I was going to cut off his left ear, gouge out his right eye or break both his legs before really going to work on him. I’m afraid I might get started and get too excited to stop until the bloody chunks were bloodier chunks._

Knowing Villanelle's silence meant nothing good, Eve said hurriedly, "You’d be only wasting your time, baby. Niko is not living in the house anymore."

"Where is he living now?"

"Nowhere. He’s not living anywhere anymore. He’s dead.”

"Good. Because he should be because he's a woman-beating asshole. How did he die?"

  
“I’m the one who killed him. Well...not precisely, but mostly, yeah," Eve replied with a sheepish look. She did not look remorseful in the slightest. This interested Villanelle. How matter-of-fact Eve was about Nico's demise. 

It also made her a little excited. She bit her lip and wondered if she should drag Eve into the ladies room and do her right there up against the wall.

  
_Well then. Niko’s dead, so no trip to London. At least not until she carried Eve over the threshold of the doorstep and upstairs to fuck her senseless in their marital bed in one final act of defilement. Not entirely satisfactory, but good enough. At least until she found where he was buried so she could squat over it and piss all over his dead mustache._

“Would you like to tell me how you killed him? I think I’ve figured out the why.”

  
Eve picked up her purse, fished deep inside past the small gun she had inside and laid a crisp $100 bill on the table.

  
“I know you want details, darling Oksana,” she said as they walked to the door. “I’ll give them to you, but first I have to tell you what happened after Rome and when I was tortured by MI6.”

  
Villanelle was calling up their ride on the app. Her finger stopped in mid-air. She blinked and looked down to the curly-haired ex-MI6 agent she was going to be on top of within the next hour.

  
“Wait… _WHAT_ did you just say?”

If Eve kept freaking her out this was she was going to have to fuck or kill somebody just to calm her nerves. Maybe both. 

* * *


	3. The Third Taste of Sin:  The Interrogation of Eve Polastri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place before The First Taste of Sin, so technically THIS is the First Taste of Sin, but just go with it. (You've seen _Pulp Fiction_ and _Avengers: Endgame_ , right? Playing around with timelines is a tool in the fiction toolbox). 
> 
> Eve has burned bridges, ended relationships, lied, stolen and killed to get to Villanelle. 
> 
> This has not gone unnoticed. Eve is now facing the consequences.

Mr. Brock did not like Eve Polastri. 

He had never met Eve Polastri. She worked on one floor and he two floors above. He had probably passed her in the hallway numerous times, and she had made no impression on him whatsoever.

Then he started seeing that name connected to reports about an assassin running around Europe. Major intelligence services in China, North Korea, and Russia were compiling information about a shadow cabinet called The Twelve and their aim of destabilizing world governments by way of targeted murders. 

Eve Polastri’s name was prominently mentioned and he was going to find out why.

Brock hurried down two flights of steps and swiped his ID card in front of a thick metal door. The access light flashed green and he strode into a brightly lit hallway, made a right turn and stood in front of two armed MI6 agents.

“Mr. Brock.”

“Good morning, Hathaway, You too, Bennett. Is she ready?”

“Yes sir.” Hathaway replied as Bennett nodded in agreement. 

“Good. Let me in. And please get me a coffee. Black with two sugars.”

Bennett swiped his ID card and held the door open. Brock briskly stepped past him and began to thumb through a thick folder labeled _POLASTRI. E_.

Eve’s wrists were cuffed to the metal chair and her legs shackled. She wore a thin blue hospital gown and socks. She shivered in the drafty, dimly lit room. Two months had passed since she had been shot by Villanelle and after being found by tourists before she bled to death. She had avoided the messy process of being a strangely wounded foreigner without identification who had been shot and left to die and having to explain herself to doctors and the Rome police. Carolyn, motivated by a desire to tie up loose ends, had sent a MI6 extraction team to retrieve from the hospital and return her to London to convalesce.

She had lost weight she couldn't really spare and the scar on her abdomen was healing nicely, but today it itched and it was maddening she couldn’t scratch it. She felt numb and unclean all the time and she knew her hair was a greasy mess.

_Villanelle would have a fit about the condition of my hair. Or maybe she wouldn't because she had left me face down in the dirt to die._

At the squeaky sound of the door swinging open and temporarily blinded from the oppressive glare of the hallway lights, Eve blinked her eyes shut. When she opened them a short, stocky man built like a bulldog was looking at her with barely-concealed disgust on his bearded face. He wore a cheap blue suit, white shirt and thin tie. 

“Mrs. Polastri, my name is Mr. Brock,” he said in a thick Irish brogue. “I’m here to discuss your pursuit of and involvement with the assassin, Code Name Villanelle.”

Eve was cold and confused, but still alert enough to catch the difference in phrasing.

“What do you mean by ‘involvement?’” she asked.

Bennett walked in with Brock’s coffee in a paper cup. He did not acknowledge Eve’s presence. 

“Ah! Thank you, Bennett. That will be all for now.”

“Very good, sir. Do you want me to stay or go? 

“You can go,” Brock said as he ripped the edge from the sugar pack and poured it into the cup. The door closed behind Brock. As he stirred, Eve repeated, “Why did you say 'involvement' with Villanelle? She shot me and left me to die. Do you think that’s something someone you’re 'involved' with does?” Eve had already exhausted her limited patience and this little bureaucrat was getting on her nerves.

Brock said nothing as he sipped the coffee. Then he replied evenlBry, “I am not here to answer your questions, Mrs. Polastri. You are here to answer my questions.”

“Who do you think y---”

“If you finish that sentence, I will throw this coffee in your face, so please shut up and do not interrupt me again. Final warning.”

The words died unborn in Eve’s mouth. Okay. Now she was a little intimidated. She did not know who this man was, but he was not someone who was susceptible to being charmed or confronted.

This was a serious man and she was in serious trouble.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

II.

Brock opened the folder and began separating report files from photographs.

“Frankly, Mrs. Polastri, I’m not really interested in you at all. I’ve seen your kind before. Another middle-aged woman desperately seeking an escape from a dull, unfulfilling life. Losing your looks and bored by an even more boring sex life. You are a small fish. A faceless office drone, and actually beneath my notice. You would have stayed that way had Carolyn Martens not plucked you from your dreary existence.”

"You would have remained in MI5 being a good little cog in the machine otherwise unknown to me. Instead, you foolishly decided to try your hand at spycraft and cocked it up in spectacular fashion." He jabbed a finger in Eve's direction. "That was a mistake made by Miss Martens and one she will be called to account for it."

Eve realized she had only seen Carolyn once since she had been moved from the Rome hospital to recover in a MI6 safe house under 24-hour security. Not that they would be able to stop Villanelle if she came looking to finish her off. 

Niko hadn't come to visit her at all. Did he still care about her at all? Did she care apparently he did not?

"Mrs. Polastri, did you know when you consented to join Miss Martens' team she immediately had you placed under surveillance and your home, office and phone bugged? Do you know her son was able to watch you wherever you went where there was a camera?"

"What? I---I don't understand," Eve said shaking her head in confusion. "Carolyn bugged my _house_?"

"Mrs. Polastri, we know every word you and Codename Villanelle have spoken to each other. We knew it when she visited your hovel in London—twice. We knew when you stabbed her in Paris. We knew when you hired her to intimidate her rival assassin, The Ghost."  
  
"We also know Miss Martens was working with a former Russian operative, Konstantin Vasiliev who was Code Name Villanelle’s handler for The Twelve. We also know you, Martens and her man-child, Kenneth Stowton traveled to Russia to meet with the assassin while she was on assignment to eliminate another Russian operative for The Twelve named Nadia Kadomtseya."

“I didn’t meet with Villanelle in Russia, sir.” Eve said.

Brock frowned. “There is no question on the table, so do not speak until there is.” 

'We know Carolyn and you met with Vasiliev and another intelligence operative, Vladimir Betkin. We know Martens has been romantically involved with both Vasiliev and Betkin."

"We know you visited the home of one Anna Aanmokoba, a former teacher of Code Name Villanelle. She is now dead"

_Why does he keep calling her that? If he knows so much, he should know her real name is Oksana._

“We know you have been seen with and have worked with Russian intelligence operatives. We know you have lied repeatedly to your husband and your colleagues. We know you abandoned another member of Carolyn’s team, Hugo McDonald, after he had been shot and left him bleeding out on the floor of your hotel. We know you were present when Codename Villanelle cut Mr. Peel’s throat. We know you escaped there together and returned to the hotel where you killed an operative of The Twelve named Raymond, with an axe.”

"An _axe,"_ Brock whistled. "Extraordinary, really."

"We know when you and Codename Villanelle killed those two in Rome it put both of you in the crosshairs of Peel's global corporation and Raymond's shadowy cabal. We saw and heard how you and the Russian were planning to leave together to live your fantasy life in Alaska."

We even know exactly what happened between you and Codename Villanelle leading up to the moment where you rebuffed her advances and, in a rage, she shot you in the back and left you to die in the Villa Adriana ruins.

"What we do _not_ know, Mrs. Polastri is how bent you are. Are you working for MI6 or The Twelve or someone else entirely? Why is it you were only wounded by Codename Villanelle, but your boss Frank Haleton and your colleague Bill Pargrave were brutally murdered by her? “ 

Brock shuffled some papers around and laid before Eve pictures of Frank’s bloodied body wearing the dress Villanelle had bought her. She barely batted an eye.

Then he spread another set of autopsy photos before her. _Bill._ Poor dead Bill. This time she did turn away.

Brock bore in, “He was your friend, wasn’t he? Had a wife and a baby girl, right? How many times have you spoken to Bill’s wife since you led him to the slaughter? Have you told Mrs. Pargrave you’re sweet on his killer?”

“Stop. Please stop,” Eve moaned.

“Did you set them up? She got the location of Haleton’s safe house from your phone and Pargrave was part of Carolyn’s off-the-books team after you were both fired by Haleton after that massacre in the hospital. “

“Was it because you are still in the employ of forces unknown trying to destabilize this nation?”

“We do not know why you have been operating as a free agent as part of an off-the-books operation expending money, time, resources and compromising assets with no accountability. “

“Just how useful of an idiot are you, Mrs. Polastri?”

“How much of a traitor are you, Mrs. Polastri?” 

“Have you been turned by The Twelve or do the Russians have _kompromat_ on you?”

Eve hung her head. She was as alone as she had ever been. She felt bile rising in her stomach but choked it down. The last thing she needed was to do something to make this angry little man any angrier.

“Unfortunately, treason is no longer a hanging offense in the United Kingdom, so the citizens of this great nation will foot the bill to keep you prison for the rest of your miserable life, and I assure you Mrs. Polastri, your life will be _very_ miserable. I will make it my personal mission to ensure this.”

“May I ask you for a favor, Mr. Brock?”

“If it is within reason.”

“Stop calling me ‘Mrs. Polastri.’ I would prefer if you simply called me, ‘Eve.’”

Brock looked up from his paperwork and peered over his glasses. “No, I don’t think I will. I will not do that at all.”

“But why?” Eve inquired, “That’s my name.”

“Your first name, Mrs. Polastri. You are still married to Mr. Niko Polastri, are you not? More to the point, for me to call you by your first name is to invite familiarity and I do not wish to be familiar with you in any way.”

“You are an enemy of the state and that is how I shall treat you,” and with that Brock stood up and walked out of the room.

He left Bill and Frank’s autopsy photos face up. Eve looked away and began sobbing loudly. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

III.

Two long and thirsty hours later Brock came back in. She needed to go to the bathroom. “Mr. Brock may I please…”

He held up a hand to stop her in mid-sentence. “Let me be clear with you, Mrs. Polastri: I am not here to negotiate with you or cut a deal with you. I don’t really care if you are part of a sleeper cell or a radical lesbian extremist group.”

“What I DO care about is getting my answers from you, so let me tell you what will happen to you if you do not cooperate.:  


“You will face extraordinary rendition to another country where they specialize in innovative ways to extract information from the unwilling. No one will know where you are, and no one will care to find out.” You will be blindfolded, bound and gagged and taken to a black site and spend being sleep deprived, kept in stress positions, stripped naked, hosed down and locked in solitary confinement for 23 hours a day. You will be buried alive in a coffin-sized box and you be repeatedly waterboarded.”

“You’re going to have me tortured?” Eve whispered. “You’re going to have me killed.”

Brock feigned hurt surprise. 

“Oh no. There will be strict instructions provided to your jailers. You must be fed, and you must receive your medicines for your gunshot wound. You must not be beaten, disfigured, or mutilated. You are not to be sexually molested or raped. You are not to be killed.”

“Everything just short of killing you is fine,” Brock said in a chilly monotone. “I can only hope your jailers read English as well as I write it.” 

Eve thought she might pass out, but the growing terror in her kept her wide awake.

“What I DO care about is the security of the United Kingdom and if you have compromised it, I will see you rot behind bars from now to doomsday. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir, “she replied meekly. 

“Good,” he called out and the two agents entered the room. 

“I am finished for now. Take her to the loo but keep a close watch on her even if she’s taking a dump.”

Brock gathered his photos and paperwork back into the folder and finished the last of his now cold coffee. The agents freed Eve’s chained wrists, but kept her ankles shackled forcing her to shuffle along as they each grabbed an arm and escorted her out of the interrogation room.

“Oh, and if she tries to escape, shoot her in the back of that unruly mop of hair.”

“Very good, sir.” the agents nodded in unison.

A single drop of pee trickled down Eve’s leg. She prayed her bladder would not release completely. Not while Brock was standing there watching her slowly disintegrating into madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few fast fun facts.
> 
> **Extraordinary Rendition** is according to the dictionary, _"...the seizure and transfer of a person suspected of involvement with a terrorist group to another country for imprisonment and interrogation without legal process (such as the naming of charges, legal representation, or trial)."_
> 
> **Komopromat** is according to the dictionary _"...refers to materials collected specifically for the purpose of blackmailing the target. It’s a Russian portmanteau of komprometiruyushchiy, “compromising,” and material, “material,” and if those Russian words look familiar, it’s because they are; they were borrowed into Russian from English."_
> 
> Anybody know what Hugo's last name is? I couldn't find it.


	4. The Fourth Taste of Sin:  A Rude Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve can feel the noose begin to tighten around her neck and she could use a good night's sleep. She isn't going to get it.
> 
> Or will she?

The Dream always starts the same way.

They’re in bed. Naked as the day they came into the world, if nowhere near as innocent. They are lying in each others arms. Their lovemaking was sweet and good and they are bathed in sweat and lost in the afterglow. It felt natural. It felt authentic. She loved and was loved in return by Villanelle.

Except Villanelle wasn’t there in the M16 safe house. Eve was and though it was marginally nicer than the hospital, she was still confined to a two-room apartment with an armed guard outside the door. The windows were locked and barred. She had no phone or computer. She was allowed a wall-mounted television, but it only got a half-dozen programmed stations. She had no books, magazines or any other reading material.

Anytime not spent at M16 being grilled by Mr. Brock, Eve devoted to working on her physical fitness. She did push-ups, sit-ups, planks and other cardio exercises. She got three hours a week to utilize the basement gym and while she wasn’t allowed to use free weights (too dangerous), she had begun to enjoy alternating between the stationary bike and the treadmill.

She was up to 45 minutes now at a fast trot. She was feeling stronger and better than she had in years.

_Maybe because I’m not drinking though I’d love a drink. I’d also love to have sex, but my husband left me and my girlfriend shot me, so I’m short on options_.

Eve would have killed for some of her cheap read wine. She didn’t want to start drinking again, but it was night and she was bored and lonely and starving for something to do. Something to take her mind off her that nagging sensation that wheels were turning and she was about to be crushed under them.

Because she knew her time was running out.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Initially, the interrogations----blocked off on Brock’s calendar as “debriefings”---had been grueling marathons going as long as seven or eight hours. One started at 5:00 pm and ended at 2:00 in the morning. He wanted names, dates, times, places, descriptions about everything and everyone that had entered Eve’s life since Frank the Dickswab’s fateful Saturday morning meeting.

Brock did not make small talk and had revealed no personal details about himself. No wedding band, no talk of kids, nothing about where he came from or whether he was a dog or cat person. Eve had to give the bastard credit. He was locked down and sealed up tight.

The one thing he had revealed, because he wasn’t a good enough actor to fake it was how he could barely conceal how much he loathed Carolyn Martens.

Brock’s vocal inflection would change whenever he referenced Carolyn. Outwardly he gave little facial tics or drum his fingers or fold his arms when he asked Eve about what Carolyn had known or instructed her to do. Of course, Eve tried to pry into what might be under the floorboards of Brock’s resentment of the Great Carolyn Marten, but he would ignore it and plow on to his next query.

He was still only referring to her only as “Mrs. Polastri” which still got up her nose, but at least he had knocked off his ridiculous “Code Name Villanelle” nonsense.

The interrogations had become more tedious than stressful once she dropped the hard-ass act and just went along proving her inane answers to his banal questions. Eve was clinging to the hope that cooperating with Brock might keep her out a MI6-approved black site and her fear of being waterboarded multiple times had receded.

But she was pretty sure there was no future ahead for her which didn’t include going to prison. Not if Brock had anything to say about it and since he was the one playing Grand Inquisitor, he had a _lot_ to say about it.

Eve desperately did not want to go to prison. She knew if she went in she’d come out old, feeble and totally barking mad. Or maybe Villanelle might come and pay her a visit one day like she visited Nadia in Russia.

That would not do. She had unfinished business with Villanelle. _Serious business_.

She swung her legs out and flinched as her bare feet hit the cold floor. She untied her robe and threw it on the bed. She stood there in the darkness naked to the world. She never slept in the nude with Niko. Hell, she had never slept in the nude at all before. Before Villanelle had shot her. Since then clothes on her skin felt itchy and confining. She had scandalized a few of the doctors and nurses when they discovered her sleeping in the raw.

A knock at the door interrupted her musing. “Everything okay in here?”

The voice belonged to Miss Sanchez, a younger agent who had been nice to Eve. One night she brought Eve an extra blanket when she complained of her room being cold. Sanchez had a pretty smile and had slipped Eve a candy bar earlier in the week.

“I need to lose eight pounds before my physical evaluation next week and chocolate goes right to my hips,” Sanchez had explained. “Now you barely _have_ any hips, so I think you need this candy more than I do, Eve.”

"You could always join me in my workouts, Sanchez," Eve shot back. They both had enjoyed a shared laugh. Of course Eve accepted the offering and consumed it greedily. How long has it been since she had enjoyed chocolate? Or sex?

She laid back on the bed, reached over to turn the clock radio to a jazz station, closed her eyes, and eventually drifted into dreamless sleep.

For all of 45 minutes.

There was a knocking at the door, and before Eve could reply a key rattled in the knob and it swung open. Sanchez stepped into the room. She flipped on the light switch.

Eve raised her arm covered her eyes from the sudden glare. “Hey, I’m naked here. Can I get a minute to...”

Sanchez’s usual toothy grin was gone. She was trying to look stern, but she mostly looked unhappy. In her right hand her gun was drawn.

“Sanchez?” Eve whispered. “What’s the problem? Why-why do you have your gun? “

Sanchez ignored Eve and walked over to the radio and turned it off. She snatched Eve’s nightgown off the bed and tossed it to her.

“Get dressed,” she grunted. “You have a visitor.”

“What? At 3:00 in the morning?”

Had she not been shocked into silence she would have said, “Who?” but that was wholly unnecessary.

“Good morning, Eve.”

Standing before Eve in all her glory was Carolyn Martens.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She wasn’t alone. Beside her was a tall man who also had his pistol drawn and now he pointed it at her. He raised it to eye level and if Carolyn instructed him to he would pull the trigger and Eve’s face would disappear in a spray of blood splatter and bone chips.

He looked vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn’t recall where. As if she had read Eve’s mind, Carolyn said, “I believe you have already met Mr. Mason?”

Carolyn’s face was impassive. Eve blinked in curiosity but she felt no fear. Why wasn’t she scared?

“Oh. _Oh shit_.”

She recognized Mason now. They _had_ met previously.

He was the man who had bumped into her on the tube station. He was the man she was going to push onto the tracks. He was the man who would have been her first kill.

“So, he was part of your plan too, Carolyn?”

Carolyn spread her arms wide and smiled, but said nothing.

“Why don’t you put on your robe, Eve?” she said. “We can have a little chat.” Eve slipped on her robe and tied the sash. She flopped down on the bed in complete disgust.

Mason and Sanchez flanked Carolyn as she settled into a chair, pulling her leather gloves off and crossed her legs. “You two may step out. There are a few things Eve and I need to discuss privately.”

“Are you sure that’s safe, ma’am?” Mason said. He honestly looked concerned for her welfare.

_Good dog,_ Eve thought.

“Quite sure, Mason. Eve and I aren’t friends, but she is a sensible woman. At least when she’s not distracted by blonde Russian assassins. If I need you I will call for you. Or scream bloody murder.”

“Yes ma’am. We will be down the hall.” Mason shot a withering glance at Eve as if he were saying _Give_ _me_ _a_ _n excuse_ _to kill you and_ _I_ _’ll happily do it and slam a few pints afterward to celebrate_. Sanchez just looked miserable.

“I guess I was right to think of Sanchez as friendly, but not necessarily a friend, huh, Carolyn?”

Carolyn’s smile was positively predatory. It didn’t scare Eve, but damn if it didn’t unsettle her. Carolyn proceeded to unsettle her even more.

“While you were sleeping, your girlfriend busied herself by taking any and every job that came her way. It has not gone unnoticed that she has effected her kills in an increasingly reckless and careless manner. There is nothing discreet about shooting a man in broad daylight as he is walking down the street or stabbing a woman to death in her hotel room and leaving her decaying corpse stuffed under a bed for the cleaning staff to discover the next day.”

Eve put a hand to her mouth. An involuntary motion, but one beyond her capacity to control. Villanelle had gone mad. Insane with anger—and perhaps grief?

“Yesterday, she killed a woman who stopped her on the street to ask if she was okay. Apparently Villanelle was under the influence of some very bad drugs because she first she snapped every finger on the woman’s outreached hand and then with the palm of her left wrist rammed her nose bones up into her skull.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eve whispered. Suddenly getting shot in the side didn’t seem so bad.

“Thankfully, she died rather quickly. Villanelle didn’t make her suffer, but she did use the poor woman to send a message. The police took a photo and we intercepted it. Would you like to see it, Eve?”

Eve didn’t but she did.

“Yeah.”

Carolyn swiped past a few images on her phone then passed it to Eve.

“Here. Take a good look”

Eve leaned in and goggled at the phone.

Written in blood on the extremely dead woman’s forehead was one word.

_Eve._  


\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve regained her composure, shrugged and handed Carolyn’s phone back.

“That’s not my fault, Carolyn. It’s yours.”

Carolyn’s casual exterior of permanent detachment cracked a bit. Eve’s response hadn’t been what she expected. Eve sensed a momentary advantage and pressed on.

“You actually are what you told Villanelle you were: the real boss. Everything has been part of your plan and you found someone who was naive enough to buy into your bullshit, hook, line and sinker, right Carolyn.”

Carolyn was nonplussed. “To the contrary, Eve. I have never considered you to be naive. Stupid, yes. Naive, no.”

Eve grinned, “Oh, so we’re playing ‘Truth or Dare’ are we? Okay, I like this game. So Carolyn here’s a question: Truth or Dare?

Without missing a beat the spymaster replied, “Truth.”

“What did you discuss with Villanelle in Russia?”

Carolyn’s smile was positively predatory, “Why, _you_ , of course, Eve. What else would Villanelle care about? I told her that Konstantin wanted to get out and stop being her handler. He was afraid she might grow so bored by him that she would kill him and then his obese wife and obnoxious child just for the fun of it. I offered her a new handler to provide her with new assignments.”

“Which was me, of course.”

“Of course, Eve.”

That made sense. It wasn’t the worst possible outcome either.

“She wanted to think about it. She wasn’t certain you were capable of holding her attention long enough to pay attention to your directions.”

“What changed her mind?”

Carolyn stifled a yawn. "Pardon me. I'm unaccustomed to being awake at this time of night. It was when you stabbed her and instantly regretted doing so. That was all she needed to find you worthy of her attention. To his eternal credit, Martin predicted it would take an act of extreme violence for Villanelle to transfer her paternal love for Konstantin to her unbridled lust for you.”

“Since your nasty parting of the way in Rome, Villanelle has been on quite the rampage. She is taking any job that is offered to her. No longer is she waiting for The Twelve or MI6 for her marching orders. Anyone who can pay her fee can retain her services. She no longer cares where the money for her pretty things and awful drugs are coming from.”

Eve found it unsurprising that Villanelle was raging at the world. She had learned the hard way how Villanelle handled disappointment, but still she remained confident she could talk her down. They shared something that inextricably bound them to the other, but she wasn’t going to do it by working for Carolyn. A lifetime in prison was preferable than to allow herself to be anyone’s puppet again.

“As long as she has the chance to kill she is killing at will. She garroted a man on a public street in Barcelona. She shot another one in the back of the head in a Belfast pub. Those are among her designated targets. Just for the fun of it she has killed no less than three women who had nothing in common beyond they were brunettes with curly hair.”

Outwardly Eve repressed any show of concern. She would give Carolyn nothing. Inside it burnt like a steady drip of corrosive acid, but damn if she would ever again give this evil bitch the satisfaction of knowing she had fucked with her head.

“So perhaps this is not as much my fault as it is yours, Eve. Nobody told you to make a murderous psychopath fall madly in lust with you,” Carolyn said. “She is the monster of your own making.”

“Good try, Carolyn,” Eve responded, “But if you’re trying to make that nervous and insecure little office drone you hired feel guilty and shamed, you’re wasting your time. That was Old Eve and she died in the ruins of a Roman emperor's villa.”

“This is the New Eve you’re talking to and I don’t give a fuck about how many people Villanelle has killed since you sold us out, because as far as I’m concerned, the only mistake she’s made is she’s murdering the wrong people.”

Eve pointed a finger at Carolyn and it was steady.

“She should have killed _you_ Carolyn. You deserve it more than anybody and when I find her and get her centered again, she will.”

Now it was Carolyn’s turn to show her surprise. She was unaccustomed to having her life threatened with such hubris by such an unimportant little worm.

“You. Would. Not. Dare. Do you know what sort of resources I have at my command, Eve? I can put you on a plane tonight and by tomorrow afternoon, you will be in a Egyptian black site prison. I can have your dull husband decapitated and his head hung up in your room. I can have your mother in Connecticut dismembered and project the video on your cell wall in an endless loop.”

Eve stood up and Carolyn instinctively flinched back. She didn’t call for Mason. Not yet anyway.

“You are going to do exactly what you want to do, Carolyn. I won’t beg you not to do whatever you’re going to do anyway. So go ahead. Tear my mother apart and chop off Niko’s head. It’s not as though I can stop you from doing what the fuck ever you want to do.”

Eve’s voice dropped. Carolyn felt a sudden chill as if a window had been opened and an Artic breeze had blown over her bare neck. Eve had actually flustered the great Carolyn Martens.

She attempted to regain her control but the other woman denied her. There was only one Alpha in the room and it no longer was Carolyn. Before she was aware of it happening, Eve had closed the distance between them and was now standing over her.

“Carolyn, I had nothing but respect for you. Everything about you was an inspiration to me. As a woman you led British intelligence against the Soviets during the Cold War. You foiled their plots. You exposed traitors and collaborators. You protected Great Britain time and time again and in exchange you got little in the way of financial compensation and even less in recognition from your male compatriots.”

“So when The Twelve came along to offer you the opportunity to be their mole within MI6 you didn’t need much prodding to accept it. They were willing to recognize and reward your impressive accomplishments even if the men who run British intelligence were not. And all it cost you was whatever little bit of humanity you had left.”

Carolyn gasped and Eve felt the heat of a nearly erotic rush of pleasure from that slight passage of air, but she wasn’t finished yet. And she desperately needed to finish.

“I don’t know if you are part of The Twelve or just their whore. I don’t think I care that much. What I do know is I’m not going to be a whore with you.”

Carolyn stood up and pulled her coat on. “Good for you, Eve. I’m pleased by the progress you have made in becoming a fully-formed human being.”

Eve grabbed Carolyn’s coat and drew her in close. Eve’s eyes sought and found Carolyn’s. Locked.

“I had a professor who was a great believer in Karma. Me? I’m a skeptic of anything I can’t measure, analyze or quantify. I appreciate what I can see hear feel smell taste touch which is why I’m so fucking alive when I’m with Villanelle. Nobody has ever made me feel more alive than she has.”

“She killed Bill. She wants to kill Niko. She tried to kill you, Eve,” Carolyn said as the words rushed past her lips with more urgency than she was used to. She briefly entertained the thought about screaming for Mason, but worried Eve might tear her throat out with her bare teeth before she could say his name.

Well, she wasn’t _completely_ wrong, Eve considered.

Yeah, she knew Life With Villanelle was more like a postponed death sentence. How could anyone build a life remotely resembling “normal” with her? Lose her interest and she might smother Eve in bed with a pillow.

“Yes, you’re right about Villanelle. She’s not entirely sane and she certainly isn’t safe, but I would _never_ sell her out to a whore like you, Carolyn. I would prefer to go and live in hell with a psychotic like Villanelle than go to heaven with a cunt who fights England’s enemies by day and fucks then by night.”

As Carolyn’s cheeks flushed red with anger Eve wished she had a phone to snap a picture with.

“You are trash, Carolyn. You stink. You stink of evil. There are few things in this world that qualify as truly being evil, but if you don’t fit the designation neither does Hitler. The only good thing you ever have done was give birth to Kenny and even then you emasculated him. You probably would have aborted him with your bare hands if you thought you couldn’t control him.”

“What will you do Carolyn when he finally sees you as the inhuman monster you are?”

Carolyn set her rage aside. Rage was undignified. Rage was unbecoming for a person such as herself. Leave that to the rabble such as Villanelle, Raymond and Eve.

“Eve, if I thought for even a second you presented _any_ threat to me, I would end you. If I called out two armed MI6 agents would rush to my rescue and empty their guns into your bullet-riddled body. Details of your sapphic liaisons with enemies of the state would be grist for the mills of scandal-starved reporters for weeks. I would find some petty satisfaction in tearing off that halo of sanctimonious arrogance you wear and expose you to the world as the weak, mewling little quim I know you are. I would send the pictures of your corpse to your mother to enjoy just before I instructed The Ghost to drown her in her own bathtub.”

“I have not merely survived the contempt and scorn of my enemies in state intelligence. I have been nourished by their sexism and scorn. They underestimated me when I started but they _all_ fear me now. Whatever power they believe they posses is only at my sufferance, and that includes your tiresome Mr. Brock. He fears me too and he’s right to do so.”

Learning in so close as to smell Carolyn’s perspiration, Eve grinned a mirthless smile and responded.

“I don’t doubt for a second what sort of psychopath you are, Carolyn. I see you how you are because I’m a psychopath too. So is Villanelle. It’s too bad you’re such a disgusting old cunt, Carolyn. You could be the Mother Superior of Eve and Villanelle’s Church of Sin.”

“My, aren’t we ever feeling so melodramatic this morning, Eve?”

Eve didn't reply. She had nothing further to say .

_Don’t mistake passion for melodrama, Carolyn. Don’t make that mistake. You’ve made enough already. But so have I._

_I never anticipated I could or would fall in love with a woman, but I have._

_I never thought I would leave my husband and friends for a woman, but I have._

_I never dreamed it was possible to feel as awake, as alive, as electric and connected as Villanelle makes me feel, but now I know it is possible and for that if nothing else, Carolyn I must thank you. Until you came along and fucked up my_ _entire_ _life, I would have never known there was an alternative to shepherd's pie and seven shitty minutes of sex._

Carolyn pulled her gloves on.

“Well, this has been quite the conversation, but this is the last time I will ever speak to you again in your wretched life, Eve. Tomorrow you will conclude your interrogation with Mr. Brock and when he finishes his report and turns it in, I will be among those suggesting if you’re not locked up for the rest of your misbegotten life, you should at least do a long sentence for betraying your adopted country.”

Eve’s breathing evened and slowed. Her consciousness was centered and she was fully in the moment. If not for the guards, she would kill Carolyn right there on the spot. All this evil woman had done to pull Villanelle and Eve together only to yank their mutual heart’s desire away and only because she could. The cruelty Carolyn so casually inflicted upon others never seemed to come back to her. That needed to change. 

“Do enjoy your meeting with Mr. Brock, Eve.”

She called out and Mason appeared. He had probably scampered down on all fours, Eve mused. They walked out, but before the door closed, Sanchez stuck her head to say sheepishly, “Good night, Eve. I’ll see you in the morning?”

Eve said nothing. She would never have a kind word for Sanchez again.

She sat on the bed and pulled her knees up to her chest. She had to process what had just happened and how could she come out on the other side with her life and her freedom?

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve hadn’t used her deductive skills in a while. She had burnt herself out with hunting Villanelle and the resultant chaos and clarity she brought with her in her wake. Maybe it was Carolyn’s audacity that had cleared her head, but Eve’s brain was finally firing on all synapses.

She didn’t have a plan. She had _plans_ and she was mentally constructing and deconstructing each one and how they might work and how they could fail.

Brock didn’t want her. All throwing little lovesick Eve into prison would get him is a “Good show, old man” and maybe a few kind words on his next yearly review. Brock didn’t need a minnow like her.

He needed a big fish. He needed so important.

She smiled to herself and then laid her head on the pillow. She looked up at the ceiling fan slowly turning above her. Her hands reached up and touched her small breasts as she massaged them until the nipples rose from their slumber. Then she slid her left hand down between her legs and slowly began to enjoy the growing wetness. Her eyes closed and she recalled the things Villanelle had said to her than night in Rome. 

And it felt delicious. 

_I’m not going to give you a big fish, Brock. I’m going to give you a fucking whale._

Eve slept better than she had since drifting off to a sticky slumber brought about by Villanelle coaching her to a Hugo-delivered orgasm many months ago.

She smiled the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to get Villanelle back in the paint. I have to plug a plot hole and she's good at that sort of thing.


	5. The Fifth Taste of Sin:  Lovers In A Dangerous Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This isn't the chapter I originally intended to write, but this is the chapter I've been wanting to write. As I said to another KE writer last week, sometimes we are in such a hurry to get to the scene where they are killing or humping that we forget these two women haven't really spent all that much time together. My feeling is Eve is drawing closer to Villanelle's world than the other way around, but there are many twists and turns and bumps on that road and not the least of which is how does one form a loving and lasting relationship with another person who can pretty much kill you in your sleep if you snore too loud or steal the covers off her?_

_"It is hard to stop loving the ocean, even after it has left you gasping." --- Sarah Kay_

Eve was about to explain to Villanelle what happened next following her surprise visit from Carolyn, when Villanelle suddenly launched herself from the chair, she had been sitting in. A tiger pouncing would have been slower and made more noise than the young blonde. One moment Villanelle had been sitting quietly listening to Eve unspool her tale of being interrogated, humiliated, and degraded.

Villanelle was not a woman known for her patience. Her tolerance for sitting by idly as something that was hers was being beaten down and broken apart was antithetical to her personality. A man like Mr. Brock had psychologically tortured her woman. Eve was _hers_ and woe betide anyone who threatened that which she loved.

He would pay for that. Pay for it in blood. Pay for it drop by drop.

Niko would have already died at her hands had Eve not taken that pleasure for herself, but Villanelle couldn’t begrudge her lover that satisfaction. This Mr. Brock was another matter entirely.

She would bleed him. She would keep him alive with tourniquets and just enough drugs to keep him alive until she chose to let him die. It might take weeks, and no, she was not patient, but she did enjoy her little indulgences and the suffering she hoped to inflict on Brock was of Biblical proportions.

It was a moment where Eve exhaled and took a long sip of her favorite cheap red wine when Villanelle decided she had to speak now or hold her peace and there was nothing about this topic that made her peaceful in the slightest.

They were sitting in the living room area of the hotel suite Eve had insisted relocating to. “You’ve been in one place too long, Villanelle,” Eve had said. “If I could find you, so could our enemies.”

Not _your_ enemies, but _our_ enemies. The subtle difference had been noted by Villanelle and it meant everything.

Plus, it was true. As much as she missed her Paris apartment, she knew it was only a matter of when she might have to abandon it and not if. That was why she possessed things, but never allowed things to possess her.

Konstantin had always instructed her to be ready at any minute to be able to walk out and go without being slowed down by baggage. Especially not the baggage of friendship or romance. Those things weighed you down and made you lose control. Control was everything to Villanelle, but she worred she might be losing some of it to Eve.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

\------------------------------------------------

“Eve, forgive me for interrupting, but baby as much as I want to know what happened with you and MI6, I can’t wait any longer. I have to know.”

The pleading in her quavering voice stirred one cold ember in Eve’s heart into the faintest, dimmest and weakest indication of growing warmth. The kind of warmth which creates sparks and sparks into smoke and smoke into flame and flames into infernos. 

Villanelle wanted the divine illumination that comes from enlightenment. Eve craved the flame as well, but for her it was about burning the entire world to ashes and arising in the newly cleansed earth. 

They thought they were traveling together but they were going in entirely different directions.

“What is it you need to know, Villanelle?” Eve purred.

Villanelle’s soft-brown eyes attempted to lock and gaze into Eve’s dark blackness, but there was no entry. Instead of opening up, Eve was retreating back, but back to where? Was it somewhere even Villanelle might not be strong enough to pull her back from?

She gulped down the flat remains of an expensive champagne, cleared her throat and dropped the question which had lingered in her mind since Eve had first put it there. 

“What happened to Niko?”

A beat…

A pause…

A moment…

A minute…

Then Villanelle felt a tangible shiver run cat quick up her spine. 

Because…

Eve….

_Fuck me, Villanelle thought._

Eve laughed. And laughed again. Then laughed even louder.

There was no humor or joy in that laugh. It was strangled, mournful, bitter and humorless. It was the laughter of the mad. 

And yet…and yet…buried bowels deep in the yawning blackness, Villanelle could hear a tiny and faint moaning cry of the Eve she had chanced upon and changed her body/mind/soul/in ways she was still struggling to comprehend.

“Eve? Are you okay?” 

Villanelle had shot Eve in Rome. Months later, she had risen from where she had fallen. Not dead, but not fully alive. 

“I’m fine. Never better,” Eve replied in a flat monotone. “You sure you want me to tell you what happened to, Niko?

“Yes, Eve.”

“But are you _sure_?”

Every extremity of her suddenly ran cold as if exposed to a sudden Arctic attack of a blizzard. Villanelle _was_ scared and while it wasn’t a sensation, she had much recent exposure to, it wasn’t completely alien to her either.

She certainly never expected to feel fear around Eve Polastri. 

She felt it now.

“I’ll tell you Villanelle. I’ll tell you everything. But not now. Not yet. I don’t want to talk anymore. I want to kiss you. I want that more than I want to draw another breath.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Villanelle felt each breath becoming shorter and closer and closer to gasps. Gasps of expectation and excitement.

She murmured wordlessly as Eve placed her hand on Villanelle’s cheek and gently caressed her and made her feel a growing sensation of warmth in her heart, down in her belly and stoking the quiet fire burning inside her.

Unbidden, Villanelle recalled the last time Eve had touched her so. In that tacky little kitchen where so much had happened. Where she had twice placed a blade against Eve’s throat and traced it down her slim frame. She could hear again Eve’s involuntary sigh as her body shook in fear, but Villanelle had no intention of ever harming Eve. To the contrary, she wanted nothing more than to protect this precious jewel from all the horrors of this shitty world and the shitty men who preyed upon women like Eve. 

Now it was her turn to sigh.

This was hardly the first time a woman’s lips had met hers. Villanelle loved women. Loved them harder and stronger and so much better than even the most gentle and attentive man could ever hope to. To give a “straight” woman her very first sheet-clutching, God-pleading, screaming orgasm never failed to make Villanelle wet with the power surge it gave her.

Now Eve was making her wet and groan.

Eve kissed her. At first with tenderness as she slowly—oh, so slowly—traced her lips across the blonde’s shoulders and up and down her throat and circled around her high cheekbones until they dipped down to press against her own lips.

Villanelle leaned back and closed her eyes as Eve ran her hands across her body. She was taking her time and Villanelle knew well the growing heat within her would soon be craving release.

But not yet. Eve was kissing her, and it was <em>everything</em> she had imagined it would be. For once, Villanelle was not in control. Eve was, and she gave in and let go. 

What Eve lacked in technique she made up for in enthusiasm. She was not a talented kisser, but she was teachable and in Villanelle, she would have an instructor skilled in the ways of passion and pleasure.

For now, they were fumbling toward ecstasy. The clumsiness of Eve’s love-making could be blamed on Niko The Mustached Missionary Man and his terminally dull bedroom behavior. After all, when she had laid down next to Villanelle in her Paris apartment, Eve shyly admitted, “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

It showed, but Villanelle didn’t mind. She grabbed a handful of curly, unruly locks and pulled Eve’s mouth into hers as their tongues tied, released and thrashed together again.

It was almost as intense as the joy she experienced as she looked into the eyes of the living just before they joined the dead. That was the purest of sensations Villanelle had ever felt and she knew there was _no one_ —not even Eve---she would ever give up that for. 

Villanelle _had_ to kill. It wasn’t an option and she couldn’t just walk away and forget she was a killer any more than she could will herself to stop breathing. The trick was to get Eve to embrace and accept her for the killer she was, and to join her in the snapping of necks, the stabbing through hearts, and the cutting of throats. 

Villanelle’s short-term plan were to eliminate The Twelve, then shoot Carolyn Martens in the head as her impotent, idiot son watched, then slaughter the upper management of MI6 and finally last, but not least, kill every last remaining member of Eve’s family and friends so in the end her only shelter would be wherever Villanelle was.

She realized she might not get everything she wanted when she wanted it, and could possibly die trying to get it, but the satisfaction of how Eve would reward her was well worth the dissatisfaction of waiting. 

She found the possibility of Eve joining her as a killer for hire to be endlessly exciting. She could masturbate herself to a thrashing climax simply recalling the wet “THUNK” of Eve’s axe destroying the last remnants of Raymond’s ugly face

Villanelle was learning patience. She was learning how to cope with the crushing boredom of the white bread world she passed through but previously had never allowed to fully touch her. 

It wasn’t the clothes or the money or the sex that drove her so. She had to admit to herself. It was the kill. It always had been about the killing. Nothing made her hotter or satisfied her needs more thoroughly than taking lives.

This was the way of the world Villanelle had not merely thrived in, she had mastered it. She was confident she had no equals, no rivals and no peers when it came to the craft of the assassin. No target was beyond the reach of her knife or the range of her gun. She could go anywhere. She could kill anyone.

Including Carolyn. Her betrayal and abandonment in Rome could be chalked up as an occupational hazard. Play the spy game and it is inevitable an employer with throw you aside without a thought. That was to be expected. People like Carolyn didn’t so much live in the shade as much as they scrupulously avoided being caught in the light.

The mistake Carolyn and Konstantin had made was it wasn't just her they have thrown to the wolves of The Twelve. They had tossed Eve aside as well knowing she wasn't nearly as capable of saving her own life as Villanelle. That was a terrible, terrible miscalculation those two old bastards had made and for it their flesh would be flayed, their bones broken, their blood drained from their bodies and their rotten souls sent to the devil in Hell.

Carolyn was a hard target, but a target all the same. Nothing could stop her from dragging Carolyn into the light and yank her living heart from her treacherous breast. Maybe would butcher her son first and make her watch. Perhaps she would feed bits of him to Carolyn before she killed her in slow and ugly ways.

This would happen. Only one thing could deny her this delightful entertainment.

Eve.

Nothing but Eve. Eve might be her salvation, or she might be her damnation. “She’s making you soft,” Konstantin had complained, and yes, Eve did make her soft. Soft and wet. Just like she was doing right now as Eve began to tear at her clothes as she panted and grunted. 

Eve made her feel thoughtful and brilliant. How could this tiny woman with her incredible hair soothe her restless spirit and furious soul? How could she have so insinuated herself in Villanelle so thoroughly? Was she a woman or a virus?

She was unsure around Eve. That was----unsettling.

How would they settle their differences? What if Eve lost the TV remote? Would she strangle her until she remembered or passed out? If they were in a restaurant and she caught Eve looking at another woman—or worse—a man---would she grab her salad fork and jab out Eve’s eye so she had one left to remind her the only person she could look at?

Villanelle knew she was selfish and thoughtless and prone to become moody and worst of all, bored. She hated being bored. A bored Villanelle was a dangerous Villanelle. She had to kill something or fuck someone to distract herself. How would Eve feel about that when she came home smelling of another woman’s sex or drenched in their stinking viscera?

She loved Eve. She knew she did. Nobody had ever touched her and made her long for that touch the way Eve did. Maybe what happened in Rome had turned out to be a good thing? It gave her time to miss Eve and Eve time to make up her mind about them. It was the same as when she had slapped Eve when she had become hysterical after killing Aaron Peel. An act of kindness hidden in a flash of pain

Shooting Eve was meant as wake-up call, not a kill shot, and it had worked! Shooting Eve was probably the best thing she could have done for her. 

Villanelle gazed down at Eve's inept attempt at undressing her, and wrapped her in her arms pulling her tight to her. “Slow down, Eve. Take your time with me,” she said with a thin smile on her face. “You don’t have to hurry, my sweet baby. We have all night and all day if you like.”

“We have time enough for each other. Let's not spoil the moment."

Eve stared lovingly into Villanelle’s eyes. “Let’s take a shower and go to bed.”

“Can I wash your hair?” Villanelle squealed with a girlish lilt in her voice.

“Baby, you can wash me anywhere,” Eve grinned with a devilish smile

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve’s beautiful face masked her concern that perhaps Villanelle <em>will</em> tire of her, become bored with domesticity as Aaron Peel said she would, and then what? Would Villanelle leave her for someone who can buy her all the pretty things she wants while providing her with targets and victims to eliminate?

_I'm so much older than her. When she's 30, I'll be in my 50's. Will she still want me when my hair goes gray and the crow's feet around my eyes grown larger? I can't cook and she's a gourmet. I have zero fashion sense and she has panties that cost more than everything I've ever owned. If I don't know how to dress, I sure don't know how to fight or survive a gunfight. When I become a weight holding Villanelle down from soaring will she resent me? Or will she cut me loose and leave me alone?_

In a bidding war for Villanelle’s talents, Eve knew she couldn’t compete relying solely upon their shared feelings of lust and love. She had to give Villanelle targets as well.

She had been giving it a lot of thought and she had the bare bones of an idea on how to give Villanelle the fresh kills she craved in the way a vampire craves blood.

Villanelle had thoughts along the same lines but pushed them aside as they walked arms around the other’s waist as they made their way laughing and giggling to the bathroom.

_Eve is essentially attempting to defy both physics as well as her own heart and soul. She is drawn to me as a paper clip is drawn to a magnet. She can TRY to defy the pull, but she will not succeed. What the heart wants it wants._

_And it will not be denied_.

<em>The further she goes down this dark rabbit hole the deeper she gets. The deeper she goes the closer she gets to finding herself.

She may not like what she finds.

But Villanelle can’t wait to take Eve there. She can teach Eve how to be her most alive and most dangerous self. </em>

“Eve?”

“Mmmmm?” Eve replied dreamily.

“I have a confession to make,” Villanelle said as she stopped and turned Eve toward her. She cupped her hand around Eve’s cheek and brought their faces close together.

“What is it, Villanelle?” Eve said with a touch of concern behind her tone.

“In Rome I tried to convince you if we ran away to Alaska, nobody would find us and we would be normal,” she said quickly as Eve nodded her head in agreement.

Villanelle smiled and kissed Eve.

“Instead of saying, ‘ _We’d be normal_ ,’ I should have said, “ _We can be anything we want.”_

\----------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Now that I've got that out of my system I can get back to the next chapter where Mr. Brock has a final meeting with Mrs. Polastri. I had to take it back into the shop to tinker with it and chop out some James Bond Lite b.s. that actually was not too terrible, but would be terrible in this story. 
> 
> As always, I appreciate y'all and I live and feed off your comments, so if you have any don't be shy. Sharing **IS** caring.


	6. The Sixth Taste of Sin:  Moscow Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter occurs after Chapter 4 (A Rude Interlude). Confused? Fine. Go back and read that and come back to this. 
> 
> Eve and Mr. Brock are going to have their final interrogation. He wants to wrap this up and put her away. She wants to wrap this up and go looking for her girlfriend.
> 
> Someone isn't going to get what they want.

As soon as the door had closed and Carolyn and her attack dog had left, Eve had shed her clothes. Clothing had never been anything she had put a priority on. If it fit halfway decent and it covered up the naughty bits and didn’t smell too bad, Eve didn’t care about clothes.

 _Until Villanelle_.

Eve laid on her back and absentmindedly began to caress her nipples and cup her breasts. She was self-conscious about her body. She was acutely aware of what parts were too small, not firm enough or sagged a bit. She was entering the age where the “cottage cheese ass” of cellulite was impending. She was getting crow’s feet around her eyes and hadn’t she noticed a grey hair in both her head and in her not-very-well-trimmed pubic hair?

Maybe so, but so what? It wasn’t as if anyone cared what her body looked like out of her ratty clothes.

_Until Villanelle._

She wasn’t bisexual and if she wasn’t bi, she certainly could be a lesbian. She liked cock. Right? Cock was all she had ever had, so how could she possibly be craving another woman? She had only had sex with Niko and one (or was it two) others in college? Yeah, it was two. Then again, there was Akeem. That one black guy in her Criminology class. He was smart, he was built, and he was well-dressed and smelled good. He was also sexy as hell and she recalled fondly how excited she had been when Akeem asked her to coach him up for an exam. 

They had kissed and she had melted in his strong arms. They didn’t have sex, but it wasn’t because she was unwilling to. He was a go-slow, get-to-know-you type, but because he was black and she knew it would never fly with her parents, Eve never gave Akeem a chance to know her. Eventually, he took the hint and stopped calling her.

She had looked around for a nice Asian guy, but instead ended up with a nice white man who was Polish and nice. Really nice. The kind of nice guy your parents approve of because a nice white man who doesn’t excite you is still better in the long run than a nice black guy who makes you wet and hungry. 

Nice girls like Eve shouldn’t have naughty feelings like that, and she hadn’t been wet and hungry since Akeem.

_Until Villanelle._

Eve had always thought it was best to blend in, be quiet, don’t make waves and go along to get along. Don’t call attention to yourself. Don’t be rude. Don’t be assertive. Don’t try to get your way. Don’t talk back. Don’t think about how trite and predicable your life will be. 

Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Eve knew this would keep her safe and acceptable and she had never had any serious, long-term, deeply insightful second thoughts that she might be playing a part instead of living her real life.

_Until Villanelle._

It had been so long since someone had told her she was beautiful. She didn’t know she craved excitement and pleasure and pain and sensations she had tamped down, pushed aside and denied existed. She didn’t know she could feel totally lost in someone and crave the sound of their voice, the dazzle of their smile, the heat of their touch.

Without Villanelle's pernicious influence, would she have ever progressed to murder? There was no way to know. Eve didn’t understand why she felt such a kinship, such a soul-deep connection with a woman she had witnessed do horrific things, including murdering her best friend in front of her horrified eyes. Who even had even threatened to kill _her_?

Yet, with Villanelle everything seemed new and fresh and exciting. It was like tasting food again after denying yourself of it for weeks. Everything was acute and heightened and sharp and clear. Eve’s need to figure out **_why_** she needed—craved, actually--the _acceptance_ from this beautiful, alluring, but lethal woman was more powerful than moral boundaries.

Maybe there was an inner defect within Eve which had gone unexposed until this dangerous creature had come along to fill the void she hadn’t realized had been there all along. Or to be more honest, was it more like a maddening itch within her soul that had always been there but never scratched that Villanelle had exploited?

Did it really matter? No matter what happened, after being awakened, Eve could not--- _would not_ —go back to sleep just to be nice and liked and accepted by a world she found boring as vanilla ice cream and uninteresting. 

_Until Villanelle._

"Fuck it," Eve muttered. 

Whatever sins she was guilty of committing of, willful, purposeful ignorance would not be one of them. “Never,” Eve swore to herself. “Never ever again.”

It wasn’t until Villanelle that Eve had truly been liberated and was now free to go wherever and become whomever she was always supposed to be.

But she wasn’t free yet. She had to convince Brock that if she was bad, their shared enemy was much, much worse. The way she saw it the key to her liberation was in in the destruction of Carolyn Martens.

It was her life or Eve’s and Eve very much wanted to stay alive and find Villanelle.

Which was why Eve had decided if she was going to have to set half the goddamned world on fire to make her way back to the only person who made her feel fully awake and alive, she was ready to pour the gasoline and light the match.

No matter who or what ended up burnt to ashes.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

As she led Carolyn Martens and her bodyguard down the steps, Rosalyn Sanchez was quite frankly scared.

She hadn’t overheard the conversation between Carolyn and Eve, but from the sour expression on Martens face, it was obvious it hadn’t gone well. She almost asked, but caught herself before she stepped even deeper in the deep shit she was already in. 

This was supposed to be a babysitting gig, Sanchez thought. Just another rogue agent who had done something sketchy and was being kept out of harm’s way until they were kicked out of MI6 or thrown behind bars. All she had to do was make sure Eve Polastri stayed put and stayed healthy until she got her just desserts.

Nobody had said anything about the head of the Moscow desk showing up in the dead of night.

Mason stepped around the two women when they reached the first-floor foyer. “I’ll go bring the car around, ma’am,” he said. There were two uniformed, armed security guards sitting behind a bulletproof glass desk and they were watching the CCTV’s mounted throughout the building. One of them nodded at Mason and buzzed him out of the steel reinforced door. 

Sanchez fidgeted nervously as Carolyn pulled her coat over her broad shoulders. 

“Is there anything else you require, ma’am?” Sanchez inquired a little too eagerly.

Carolyn turned her head to look at the young agent. Her thin lips pulled back to a slight smile.

“How long have you been with us, Sanchez?” she asked.

“Almost two years, ma’am,” Sanchez replied. 

“Good,” Carolyn said with a slight smile. “I hope in that time you would have learned there are certain matters which should be handled with---oh, shall we say, _more discretion_ , than others?”

Sanchez looked warily at Carolyn, whose face gave away nothing, but spoke volumes. There are moments in anyone’s career where how they do or do not respond determines whether they have any career at all. 

This was one of them.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sanchez quickly responded. “I know how important discretion is. It is very important to me.”

Carolyn’s predatory smile broadened. Like a crocodile right before chomps off your arm.

“I’m truly pleased to hear that, Agent Sanchez,” she replied. “I’ll keep that in mind should I see your name on a list of agents ready to move up to field assignments.”

“Thank you, Miss Martens,” Sanchez said. “Have a good night.”

“Call me, Carolyn.”

Sanchez smiled, but Carolyn had already stepped outside to her waiting car. 

One of the two guards piped up, “Hey, Sanchez?”

“Hmm…?” she replied, as the car’s taillights disappeared into the darkness. 

“We don’t get too many big shots like her coming down to visit a safe house,” the guard said. “How do you want me to explain this in the morning report?”

Sanchez swiveled around and stared the guard down. Whatever was going on between Martens and Polastri she wasn’t about to put herself in the middle of, but if she was, she wasn’t going to back the losing team.

“Don’t put _anything_ about it in the morning report. This never happened. You got it?”  


Before the guard could reply, she had turned around and trudged back up the steps.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The only good thing about being shot is if it doesn’t kill you it makes you stronger because you are forced to allocate the time to go over the unholy mess your life currently is and sit in how much of it is your own damned fault because while you thought you were executing your plan, only later would you learn it had been Carolyn’s plan all along.

The surprise visit this morning was the confirmation to Eve that Carolyn no longer viewed her as a silly fool. She had begun an active threat to Carolyn and Eve knew Carolyn did not suffer threats.

But she wasn’t the only dangerous woman here. Villanelle was going through the stages of grief by taking out her anger and hurt on innocent civilians as well as legit targets. She had to be stopped and Eve knew she was best qualified for the job. After all, they had each shed the blood of the other and blood is bond. 

After washing up and dressing in her drab clothes, the ones they had brought to her after she had been informed her husband no longer wanted in his home, Eve was escorted to a breakfast she barely touched choosing instead to chew a blueberry muffin and gulp down three cups of black coffee. 

She needed to stay hungry to be wide-awake and alert rather than well-fed and sleepy. After breakfast, Eve was transported by an unmarked vehicle to MI6’s headquarters at Vauxhall Cross.

Flanked by two guards, Eve was ushered into the interrogation room. Brock was already there waiting for her and did not look up as The leg shackles were gone, but her wrists were still handcuffed. Brock didn’t trust her not to go for his throat with a carelessly discarded pencil and truth be told, Eve randomly interchanged her fantasies of what she would _like_ to do with Villanelle with what she _wanted_ to do to Brock and Carolyn.

But today was not a day to stab Brock to death. Today was a day she needed to win him over to her side. Today was a day for Eve to play it like Jules Winfeld in _Pulp Fiction_. She was going to play it _cool._

Looking up briefly from his folders full of papers and photos, Brock murmured, “Well, Mrs. Polastri, as much as I’m sure we’ve both enjoyed this, all good things must come to an end, so we need to clean up some details, so I do hope you rested well because we’re going to be here for a while.”  


“Mr. Brock?”

“Yes?” he responded without looking up.

“Stop calling me, Mrs. Polastri. That’s not my name.”

Now Brock _did_ look up. His jaw was set, but Eve couldn’t miss the reddening of his face.

“What did you just say to me?”

“You. Heard. Me.” Eve shot back.

Glaring daggers at her, Brock sat back in the chair and said, “I must say I do find it amusing how you believe you can come in here and make demands on how I am to address you, Mrs. Polastri.”

The response was cold, flat and unmistakable in its withering contempt.

“The name is Eve. Eve _Park_. Park is my maiden name and as I soon will be emancipated from Mr. Polastri, I will thank you not to call me by his surname. In fact, I _insist_ upon it.”

“You. Insist.” Brock repeated dumbly. He was fumbling for a retort, but before he could dredge it up, Eve persisted.

“Mr. Brock? What are the Moscow Rules?”

Brock’s eyes widened. He pushed back his chair as he stood up. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he stared at Eve. Eve stared back impassively. She didn’t avert her eyes until he blinked first.

_A chink in the old man's armor. Now's as good a time as any to slip in the knife and twist._

“Wh-what do you know about the Moscow Rules, Eve?”

 _Eve_. Not Mrs. Polastri. Now we’re making progress she thought.

“What I know is before Villanelle, Hugo and I left for Rome as part of the operation to get Peel’s weapon, Carolyn briefed us and I recall every single word she said."

_This operation is strictly Moscow Rules. Cold War, analogue. No messages, no calls, no emails._

_We have to act on the assumption that Aaron will be watching and recording everything, including his sister, so no breaking cover._

_Not even for a second._

Brock was dumbstruck. 

“When Carolyn said that none of us had the slightest idea what she meant,” Eve said in a flat and dry voice, but she could see that Brock was staring at her intensely. “I mean, why would we? No phone calls or emails? Okay, I guess that makes sense, but what are ‘Moscow Rules.’ "

Brock folded his arms and paced back and forth. He stopped and stroked his chin deep in thought, as if he had come to a difficult decision.

With a long exhaled breath, the aged agent responded, “During the Cold War, there were operations conducted by MI6 in Russia, just as the Russians were conducting operations in England and the United States. It was dangerous, treacherous work. Sometimes you escaped being exposed and captured by the narrowest of margins,” Brock said turning his back on Eve.

Eve pressed the old man, “What happened if an agent was captured, Mr. Brock?”

Brock sighed. It was long and wistful if he had gone back in time to rediscover a half-buried memory.

“Sometimes the KGB would grab one of blokes and hold him for ransom. Usually that meant we would swap our captured spies, bring them home so they could spend the rest of their lives under a cloud of suspicion that they had been compromised, turned by the other side, or sent back to be a sleeper agent waiting for the signal to strike against their own country.”

“The Moscow Rules are not hard fast rules. They were more like strong suggestions on how to conduct a spy op so that you get home alive.”

“None of us knew what the ‘Moscow Rules’ were, but it was Carolyn, so of course we just went along with her instructions. What are the Moscow Rules, Mr. Brock?

Through clenched teeth and years of harsh experience, Brock summoned a bad recollection from another time.

  1. _Assume nothing._
  2. _Never go against your gut._
  3. _Everyone is potentially under opposition control._
  4. _Do not look back; you are never completely alone._
  5. _Go with the flow, blend in._
  6. _Vary your pattern and stay within your cover._
  7. _Lull them into a sense of complacency._
  8. _Do not harass the opposition._
  9. _Pick the time and place for action._
  10. _Keep your options open._



Brock sat down again and looked less agitated. He looked as if he had aged ten years.

“Is this room wired, Mr. Brock?”

“You know it is, Mrs. Polastri.” 

“So everything we are saying in here is being recorded?”

“That would follow. Where are you going with this?”

“If everything is recorded, how do you _who_ is listening?”

Brock’s eyes narrowed. Eve smiled widely.

“HATHAWAY! BENNETT!” Magically, the two agents appeared in the room, guns drawn and ready.

“Sir? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Stupid, but fine," Brock said rubbing his beard ruefully. The agents exchanged a puzzled glance, but said nothing. They continued pointing their guns at Eve, who yawned with marked disinterest. 

“Bennett, give me your weapon and draw another one from the armory," he barked. He fished into his trouser pocket and thumbed through a key ring. He held up a particular key to the light and nodded as if he was satisfied by finding it. Brock pulled his phone from his shirt pocket, glared at it for a moment and then powered it off. 

“Yessir!” Bennett replied and handed over his Glock, then disappeared out the door. Hathaway stood by looking on dumbly. Brock motioned with the gun for Eve to stand up.

"Are there any electronic devices on the prisoner, Hathaway?" he barked.

"No sir," Hathaway said.  
  
"Splendid," Brock replied. "Hold on to my phone and keep it powered off. I'll be back for it later."

"Yes sir, " Hathaway said. "May I ask where you are going, sir?"

"No." Brock said looking over his glasses at Hathaway as if he had said something profoundly stupid. "No, you may not."

Chastised, Hathaway said nothing as Brock gestured with Bennett's gun for Eve to stand up. She complied, but said nothing.

“We’re going for a nice little walk, Mrs. Polastri.” I’m going to take your handcuffs off. Do everything I say when I say do it. Try anything funny and I will pistol whip you and shoot you in the knees. Understand?

“Crystal clear, sir." Eve replied.

Eve put her arms in front of as Brock fished a key out of his jacket pocket and unlocked the handcuffs around her wrists. They clattered as they hit the floor. 

“Let’s go.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve was five steps ahead of Brock as they took the steps instead of the elevator from Interrogation Room C down to the ground floor of MI6. Brock wasn't interested in engaging in insipid conversation with curious agents or civilians. He kept his gun pointed at the small of Eve's back as they hurried from the ground floor down to the escalators to the restricted subway line that ran from MI6 HQ to central London. 

"This way," Brock snapped. Eve felt the muzzle of his gun poking in her back and moved whichever way he instructed her to go. They went down the tunnel of the subway with Brock maintaining a safe distance between himself and his prisoner. The lights down the tunnel were becoming increasingly dimmer. Eve kept stumbling ahead of Brock until he said finally, "Stop here."

"Here, where?" Eve said with her irritation evident in her terse response.

"Don't ask questions, Miss Park," Brock shot back. He stopped before a rusty door, fumbled around in the gloom, then inserted the key in the lock. Then he pulled and tugged until the door finally swung open with an ear-piercing squeak. 

Brock gestured with the gun and Eve stepped into the pitch-black room. It smelled of musky old odors of cleaning fluids. She gagged slightly from the fetid, stale air. Brock stepped in behind her and slammed the door shut with a loud BANG that made Eve flinch. He groped for the wall and a faint 40-watt bulb flickered into cold life. 

"Have a seat, Eve," he said. "Welcome to the Closet. There's no cameras, cell phone signal or any other electronic devices beyond the outlet that provides light. Nobody can hear us." 

Brock's prisoner looked around and found two rusty folding chairs around an equally rusty table. She made a face then settled into the chair. Brock pulled the chair out and straddled it facing Eve. He purposefully put the gun on the table between Eve and himself. Brock had brought along his briefcase and unlocked it. He produced two small bottles of water and flipped one to Eve. She snagged it out of the air like a baseball player shagging a pop fly ball. Brock raised an eyebrow at the display of effortless agility, but said nothing.

_There's more to her than I previously thought._

Eve turned to look at Brock. His demeanor had changed from the dogged investigator, impartial observer into a highly-vested participant with a smoldering hatred for Carolyn Martens.

“Let’s be candid, shall we, Miss Park?” Brock removed his glasses and began to clean them with a crumpled tissue. "You were hired by Carolyn for one reason and one reason only. Do you know what it was?”

“Sure, I do.” Eve said. She spread her hands as it were obvious. “To find Villanelle so the killings would stop. She was getting away with murder including Bill.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Eve!” Brock exploded as he slammed his fist on the table, “I know you’ve plastered your lips to her ass, but even you cannot be so stupid as to think all this shit is about taking down a fucking international assassin.”

She couldn’t help herself. Eve’s mouth gaped open. Brock had cursed. During the seemingly endless hours of interrogation, not a single epithet had passed from his mouth. Now he had not only dropped a FUCK bomb, but he called her by her FUCKING first name!

“Wow.”

Brock slipped his glasses back on. His sudden burst of anger had passed and he spoke in a calmer, but still emotional tone. Previously Eve hadn’t believed the bastard even knew what emotion was.

“Eve. You know Carolyn didn’t care about Bill. She doesn’t even care about her own son. The only thing Carolyn cares about is _control_. Taking control of any situation and making sure she’s the last one standing.”

“She needed you to find Villanelle and then she would play on your attraction to position you and her where you would encounter each other, continue your enticement with by each other and flirting with developing your relationship beyond shared curiosity and mutual horniness.”

Well, there wasn't anything Eve could say to that, so she nodded instead. Brock ignored her response and pressed on.

“Yet never did you spend any considerable time together before one or both of you were yanked in opposite directions by Carolyn and her ex-lover Konstantin sending your two in scurrying off in separate directions knowing without fail how you two would keep working your way back to other no matter lies you had to tell your husband and friends or how many bodies Villanelle would walk over to get to you.”

“Konstantin was gradually losing any control over her as she began to complete her tasks with too much noise and too much flair. He smartly realized he needed an exit strategy to keep his family and himself safe from The Twelve.“So he rang up his old adversary turned ex-lover from the Cold War, Caroline. She was intrigued by his offer and they met to discuss how to bring it to fruition. She reads people with uncanny accuracy. She finds out what it is you crave most and then she gives it to you. Not so much that you don’t realize you are being manipulated, but in such a way it makes you believe you can fool her at this game and use her to get what it you want. I admire that about Carolyn. She is given a dirty job to do and she accomplishes it while keeping her own hands clean. I suspect you learned that after the whole Peel affair went tits up, eh?”

Eve nodded grimly. 

"Your thing for Villanelle would appear to be nothing more than a older woman latching on a younger woman to make her dull, drab life more vital, more exciting. She chose well when she handpicked you for her little team of misfits and fuck-ups."

Look at the team she put together after Frank fired you. Bill, Kenny, Elena and you. That’s an odd pairing wouldn’t you say? The only one to spend any time in the field was Bill and he wasn’t very good at it. No, the team put together to hunt down Code Name Villanelle was put together not out of qualification or experience. You would put together to find out which one of you might be the most irresistible to her. You were put together based upon diversity and demographics.

“I’m sorry?” Eve said with a confused frown, “What do you mean by ‘demographics?’ “

Oh, come on. You have a older man in Bill who could meet Villanelle’s father figure need the way Konstantin does. You have Kenny, who though as timid as a poodle, is a good-looking bloke whom she might enjoy deflowering and turning him into her body slave. There’s Elena. Smart. Attractive. Sexy. And Black because we know our assassin craves the exotic and particularly if they have big, bushy locks.”

“Which is where _you_ come in, Eve.” 

Eve couldn’t have been more stunned if Brock had slapped her flush in the face. 

“You’re saying Carolyn, based upon the information provided to her Konstantin, put together a select group of prospective objects of attraction to Villanelle?” she said as she exhaled.

Brock shook his head in affirmation.

"She reads people with uncanny accuracy. She finds out what it is you crave most and then she seemingly gives it to you. Not so much that you realize you are being manipulated, but in such a way it makes you believe you can beat her at this game and use her to get what it you want."

“She’s disarming. Carolyn dresses in age-appropriate attire. She is impeccable in how she addresses and interacts with her superiors and her staff. Best friends will fight and turn on each other to get on her teams and on her operations. They know she will make certain they will be supported by her and she will get them anything they need to complete their missions and come home safe. It is all based on lies. Like you, Carolyn is a sociopath. She boasts she gets the best out of people. But not by being honest and forthright but through both bald-faced lies and carefully couched truths. By being presenting herself as aloof, unflappable and disinterested in being anything but being above all this messiness."

"It has been my contention that before the Cold War ended and certainly afterward that Martens turned against MI5. There are simply too many ties between her and Russian intelligence for me not to believe they reached out to her and she was receptive to their invitation," Brock said. 

“So why haven’t you arrested her?”

He shrugged his shoulders. "I suspect everything and I can prove nothing. Carolyn has support across the British government and far beyond MI6. Her tentacles reach into Parliament, the office of the Prime Minister and Buckingham Palace. Carolyn Martens is Queen of Darkness. If you come for her, you’d better have a battleship full of supporting evidence that she is a traitor, or she’ll crush you like a scuttling cockroach under her shoes."

Eve couldn't help herself, so she blurted out, "Do you think Carolyn is part of The Twelve?"

Brock's face betrayed nothing, so this wasn't the first time he had heard of The Twelve. Instead he shrugged. "I know of The Twelve, Eve, and I do not know if they are this omnipotent, unseen, all-powerful organization they are reputed to be. What I think they are is the remnants of the KGB working side-by-side with rogue agents of MI6, Mossad, Interpol, CIA, GRU, and every other state-sponsored spy agency wherever there is a single agent with an axe to grind against his or her employer."

That made sense to her, Eve thought.

Brock stood up and began to pace, "Agents falls for their adversaries all the time. They see something in them that reminds them of themselves. What is Villanelle to you, Eve? A gal pal? A girlfriend? A hook-up? A future husband?"

A frown flitted across Eve’s face like a passing cloud. What _was_ Villanelle to her? Yes, she was hotter than hell and incredibly smart and interesting. But it was something much more than that. Something about Villanelle brought out something in herself. Not for the first time, Eve felt a moment of confusion and doubt. 

Brock broke the silence, “I see you’re having trouble deciding, so if you don’t mind a layman’s opinion, I’ll tell you what I think your relationship with Villanelle is.”

It was too dark and gloomy in the room for a 40-watt bulb to eliminate the shadows that cloaked Brock so she couldn’t see his eyes. Nervously, Eve twisted the cap off the water bottle and took a big gulp.

“Go ahead. This should be good," Eve said with a sarcastic smirk. _Let the old man have his turn at bat. Then it will be my turn._

"You view Villanelle as a passage to a richer and more fulfilling life, but she’s not, Eve. She isn’t taking you anywhere you weren’t already going to. She’s not a passage at all. She’s a **_reflection_** of you. Villanelle is Eve Actualized. Everything about her is a tempting reminder to you of whom you might have been if only you had the balls to go for it. The exotic locations. The fabulous clothing and shoes. The carefree and no consequence sexual freedom. The fabulous sums of money. The swaggering confidence and ego-stroking empowerment that comes from being able to kill anyone and get away with murder.

"You want that Eve. You want ALL of it, up to and including the murdering. _Especially_ the murdering. " 

“No. That’s not who I am,” Eve replied in a hoarse whisper, “You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all.”

Brock stopped pacing. He approached Eve and stopped in front of her. He folded his arms with great solemnity. 

“I know _exactly_ who you are, Eve,” he hissed. “I’ve spent the better part of 25 years dealing with people just like you. You think you’re unique? You think you’re special? You are not. You don’t have to like me, and in fact, I’d prefer you didn’t. I’ve seen what happens to people who do and I’d prefer not to have my knob chopped off then be stabbed to death by your girl crush.”

Eve stared at Brock, but said nothing. 

"Between you and Villanelle, you are the more frightening to me, Eve. Villanelle is a killer for hire with psychopathic tendencies. She may not be a classic psychopath, but she is certainly on the spectrum. This is an extraordinarily versatile and canny killer, but she’s not unique. Far from it. There have been other female assassins and the best of them have never been discovered, never mind being caught. But I _understand_ Villanelle. She knows what she is and she likes what she is. You, on the other hand, hide your deviant behavior under a cloak of normalcy. You married a man whom you did not love and hoped that would calm your restlessness. It worked for 15 years until that Saturday meeting where you were introduced to your future obsession by Carolyn Martens. 

"That was when you began to slip the leash of the domestic dog collar you had allowed your tedious bridge-player hubby to loop around your neck,": Brock said. “All because you couldn’t follow the rules, Villanelle butchered four people in the hospital. She killed Bill before your eyes and you forgave her. She killed Frank and you didn’t even bother to show up for his funeral. You didn’t care then and you don’t care now.”

Staring into Brock's flushed face, Eve said nothing. _Bide your time. Don't react. Wait. You'll know the moment when it comes_. That's what an inner voice whispered into her brain, but she wasn't sure if it was in her voice or one with a Russian accent."

Oblivious, Brock pressed on. 

"You gave classified information to a Russian intelligence officer in exchange for a lead into Villanelle's past. It didn’t matter to you. You were present when Bill died and drove away, Elena with your self-absorbed , self-centered behavior and finally sacked Kenny when he dared to challenge you and call you out on your bullshit, Eve. So what? He still gave enough of a damn to warn you that Rome was a set-up, but you charged ahead regardless. You never questioned _why_ Carolyn would send an assassin and two office drones to run an operation against one of the most powerful and ruthless businessmen in the world."

Well, there wasn't much Eve could say in her defense, so instead she said nothing at all. 

"You just blundered from one cock-up to another until you finally made your first kill as your lady love held your victim down for you," Brock sneered. "What a magic moment it must have been for the pair of you as you splashed and frolicked in Raymond’s blood and gore. “

“Raymond wasn’t any sort of victim. He worked for The Twelve and he viciously assaulted Villanelle," Eve interjected "I had no choice but to save her!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Eve! Wake up. You’re not the hero here. You’re the patsy. You were led around by your nose by Carolyn to Villanelle and then by Villanelle. You were never in charge of anything. You think the senior officer for MI6’s Russia Desk needs a mousy little narcissist who obsesses over females killers to run an op on a dangerous megalomaniac like Aaron Peel?”

"Villanelle does what she does for money. She has no ideological or political allegiances. She kills without remorse or regret and that, I can understand. But you? You do it all for yourself. Every relationship will be betrayed, every rule will be broken, every principle abandoned so long as you get what you want and as your behavior becomes ever more extreme, I do not doubt for a moment you would destroy everyone who stood between you and Villanelle." 

" Which is why you are a far scarier threat than Villanelle is. She will kill for the financial benefit for herself,” Brock said. “You would do it because you crave the rush that comes from killing.”

Eve didn’t protest. What could she say? What besides, “You’re right,” she shrugged.

“You don’t care?” Brock shot back.

“What do you want me to say, Brock? Are you expecting me to deny what we both know is true? I don’t give a damn what you think of me, because you need me to help you takedown Carolyn and I need you to get me out of here, so I can find Villanelle and stop the killing.”

"Well, which is it, Eve? You want to stop the killing or you just want to find Villanelle?” Brock sneered.

Now it was Eve's turn to stand and face Brock as the knuckles of her clenched fists rested on the table, "Allow me to make something clear to you so we’ll both understand where we are going before we get there. If you have a problem with my conduct, I don’t give a fuck. If you think you’re telling me something about myself I don’t already know, you’re wrong, but I don’t give a fuck. 

"If you think I need to apologize for falling in love with whomever I fall in love with, I don’t give a fuck. If the idea of a middle-aged married woman getting it on with a 20-something assassin offends you, I don’t give a fuck. If two women chasing, catching and fucking each other silly bothers you, I don’t give a fuck."

Brock couldn't contain his shock. He had lost control of the situation and Eve had seized. It was too late to reclaim it and he knew it, so he listened instead to this Asian madwoman. 

"What I DO give a fuck about is getting Carolyn, getting out of here and getting Villanelle. That’s all. Nothing else matters to me."

“Do you know how crazy, you sound right now, Miss Park?” Brock said with a sneer. “You are crazier than that psychotic assassin you’re infatuated with.”

Eve looked at Brock and smiled. “Maybe I _am_ crazy, Mr. Brock, but that’s the thing about being in love. It makes you do crazy things.”

“So you are willing to throw away your entire life on what may be nothing more than a heated moment or two?”

“I’m done discussing my life with you,” she replied. “If I’m crazy and Villanelle is crazy we’re complimentary kinds of crazy. Let’s move on to what we can do to get Carolyn.”

Brock’s shoulders slumped. He ran a hand through his hair. Huffed and expelled his breath in a low whistle. He was tired of arguing with this demented madwoman. He had nothing but vague suspicions of what kind of evil shit Carolyn had gotten into. He needed something solid to take her down and right now he had nothing. 

Nothing but the plan of a lust-crazed agent. 

“Fine. Great,” he said through shrugged shoulders. “What’s your plan, Eve?”

Eve smiled a cold and humorless smile. "I thought you'd never ask, Mr. Brock."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes passed before Brock spoke again and when he did he said, “Your plan stinks of risk, Eve.”

“Hey, no guts, no glory, right?” she shrugged.

Brock shook his head as if trying to clear it. “There’s nothing glorious about this and we are likely to have our guts cut out if you fuck this up the way you fucked up in Rome.”

“Don’t feel like you need to hold back, Brock. Tell me what you really think.”

He sighed as his head dropped into his hands,, “I think you are reckless, careless and sloppy. You lead with your chin, Miss Park. You’re a hopeless romantic and an optimist, both of which makes you completely unsuited for this line of work. “Your plans are more like wishes. You bite off far bigger than you can comfortably chew. You are compromised by the blood rushing from your brains to your loins every time you are in the same room as Villanelle. This makes you worse than reckless or careless or sloppy, Miss Park. It makes you dangerous.”

“ _But…”_

“But what?” she shot back.

“But it could work. It’s daft, but daft enough that Carolyn won’t see it coming.”

Brock rubbed his beard thoughtfully, “Yeah, let’s do it. I’m in. Oh, and you know if all goes ass-end-up, you’ll pay the price for it."

Eve leaned in and looked Brock in the eyes. “Yes, I know and it’s going to come at a high price, but you will too, Mr. Brock. The moment Carolyn goes from considering you a pesky irritant to an actual threat is the moment you can measure your life in minutes. We both know life means nothing to her. She will kill you the same time she kills me."

With hesitation Brock admitted, "Yeah, I'm quite aware of that, Miss Park. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do with that awareness."

Eve gave Brock a chilly stare. "Your fucking job. THAT is what you're supposed to do, Brock and I'm going to help you do it," Eve said with a broad grin. 

Eve stood and extended her right hand. Brock looked at her for a moment and extended his own. 

Brock did not want to shake this demented woman's hand. He did not want to make a deal with the devil because the devil always collects and the price is always, always higher than what was agreed upon,

Yet, Brock loved MI6 and he loved England and there wasn't much he wouldn't do to keep both safe, up to and including getting in bed with someone like Eve Park whom he considered the scum of the earth. 

_Well, maybe at the end she won't survive this, he mused to himself._

That is how Mr. Brock ended up with compromising with the little evil that was Eve Polastri-Park in order to take down the big evil that was Carolyn Martens. 

He maintained a vague hope that he might somehow survive this cluster fuck while all the while fearing all he he done was to paint a big red bullseye on _both_ of their backs.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Many floors above them, while Mr. Brock and Ms. Park were putting aside their serious differences to take down a mutual enemy, Carolyn Martens was looming over the left shoulder of her only son, Kenny Snowton and neither one of them was in a gay mood.

"Kenny?" Carolyn said not bothering to conceal her growing irritation, "Where ARE they? I need to know what Brock and Polastri are talking about. I need to know every word of what they say."

Before responding, Kenny made a great show of mashing his keyboards, switching his monitors, twisting dials and knobs, pushing buttons and switching cameras in what he knew what a hopeless gesture. He had to keep up pretenses for his mother, but for the moment he had no fucking idea _where_ Eve and Brock had gone. They were in one of those few remaining rare places on Earht where cameras did not see and listening devices did not overhear or where there was no computers, iPads or smart phones providing our every location, as well as what we were doing there.

Brock and Eve had become invisible in plain sight. They had hidden themselves somewhere in the bowels of London where there was no electronic or digital footprint to be found. 

Not even by Kenny.

"I'm sorry, mum," he said helplessly. "I don't know where they are."

Carolyn glared at Kenny until he averted his gaze. "I see," she said acidly. Kenny nearly flinched. Perhaps one day he wouldn't be scared shitless by his own mother, but that day was not this day.

Without another word, she walked away and did not break stride until she entered her office. Closing the door behind her with a terse CLICK!, Carolyn strode directly to her desk, unlocked a drawer and grabbed a burner phone. Kenny had set up the phone so as it could not be traced and routed the signal across satellites orbiting the earth as the message was scrambled and encrypted. 

Carolyn uttered two words, "MANDATORY RETIREMENT." 

She powered off the phone. Removed the SIM card and dropped it into a shredder. She dropped the phone into the classified documents burn bin. Then Carolyn sighed and began the rest of her busy day.

There was nothing left for her to do but to see if Mason could locate and neutralize whatever threat Brock and Polastri might pose to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to go long with this one, KE babies, because I am bound and determined to wrap this up in eight chapters. If I can't, I'll go to nine, but not beyond that, because I'm already thinking of my next effort. First things first. I have to try to stick the landing on this one. 
> 
> Special thanks to vforvillanelle for her encouragement and support. 
> 
> I live off your comments and criticisms, KE babies. Hook me up.


	7. The Seventh Taste of Sin:  Who Dares Wins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last day of the interrogation of Eve Polastri. Carolyn Martens is weary of Eve's schemes and shenanigans and wants this stone removed from her shoe. Then circumstances change and things get dangerous.
> 
> Another line isn't crossed. It's erased.

  


Carolyn Martens did not get scared.

_Scared people are weak people. Carolyn Martens is never weak._

Carolyn Martens did not get angry. 

_Anger made Carolyn sleepy._

Carolyn Marten did not get nervous.

 _Nervous people make mistakes. Carolyn Martens could not afford mistakes_.

But Carolyn Martens _was_ highly annoyed.

Eve Polastri had found a way to make herself annoying to Carolyn Martens.

Which was why Eve Polastri was going to die. Today.

Carolyn leaned back in her chair and gazed out the window of her 15th floor office in MI6 headquarters. She pursed her lips and sighed. For all intents and purposes, it had been a good year for her. Certainly, better than last year after the Lebanon fiasco when her star had been on the wane. Then came the clumsy assassination attempt by Vladimir Putin and the GRU on British soil of a former Soviet Union spy who had defected and was placed under her protection as the head of the Russia Desk. 

Putin’s memory was long, merciless and unforgiving and Carolyn’s failure to protect the asset had almost prematurely ended her storied career. As it was, it gave fodder to her many enemies within the agency, including the meddlesome Mr. Brock.

Brock had been trying for a long time to take her down and while she had a grudging admiration for his dogged pursuit, he was like a buzzing fly, bothersome, but not dangerous. Until she had handed him the knife with which to stab her with. Eve merely represented another tool Brock could employ to smash everything she had built. 

She came into this year needing a win. The Rome operation had given her one. Taking down Aaron Peel and ostensibly turning over his data mining “weapon” over to M16 had pleased her superiors. And it pleased The Twelve as well, which was even more important.

The thing was while she had turned over flash drives of Peel’s device to both M16 and The Twelve, neither of them actually contained the software that laid bare the lives of the unsuspecting millions, possibly billions of human beings who swiped left, browsed the web recklessly secure in the false promise of being anonymous, and laid bare their worst fears and darkest secrets online. 

Kenny had the only working flash drive and had encrypted the two fakes with an unbreakable algorithm which kept changing every time it was breached. When it reached 100 breaches it would erase all the information on the drive and M16 would walk away with nothing except the small victory of knowing if they didn’t have Peel’s information, neither would anybody else.

The Twelve would not be so forgiving, but Carolyn knew if she had possession of Peel’s weapon, it was her insurance policy against their wrath. Kenny was a disappointment to her in so many ways, but he had his uses. First and foremost being his unearthly skills with technology. 

Unfortunately, there were limits even Kenny couldn’t conquer and Mr. Brock had exploited one of them by moving his final interrogation of Polastri somewhere in the bowels of Vauxhall Cross where no cameras could see, and no microphones could hear.

It was clever of her old adversary. It was also infuriating. Brock and Polastri could be chatting over a cup of tea about all the things Carolyn had done that were illegal and criminal since she had plucked the mousy little office drudge from M15 to chase down Villanelle. 

Brock had been a nemesis of Carolyn’s for decades now. He would have been an asset if he had accepted her invitations. To dine together, to work together, to sleep together. He had not because Brock’s particular code of ethics forbade interpersonal relationships with people he worked with. That, and he was insanely jealous of how far she had risen while he stayed mired in the bureaucratic muck of oversight and special investigations in the internal affairs division of M16. 

Nobody who hoped to rise in their career would do the job Brock was doing, which was why he had been doing it for so long. He was one of those queer little men who seemingly didn’t care about promotions and more money and prestige. Carolyn didn’t understand Ian Brock, but she was used to his prying and poking around into how she ran the Russia Desk. He had attempted to take her down for years and never come close until the Lebanon affair and the assassination attempt against the Russian turncoat and his daughter.

Now Brock was having a private conversation with the one person who could conceivably hang enough circumstantial evidence around her neck that he would be able to appeal to the higher-ups in M16 to at least suspend her and possibly to open an investigation into her group.

That would not do, Carolyn mused. Not at all. 

If Mr. Mason was successful in finding and killing Brock and Polastri, there would be hell to pay. A rogue agent overpowers a 64-year-old man, takes his gun and shoots him with it, and in turn is shot by another agent everyone knew worked for her? It would be messy, but fortunately nobody really liked Brock all that much and Polastri was actively loathed around M16.

She could sell it. She could spin it. She would survive this.

Because she was still Carolyn Martens and she would always remain two steps ahead of the infernally annoying Eve Polastri. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

“ _Mandatory Retirement, huh?”_

Mason whistled low and slowly shook his head. He didn’t need the euphemism. The old woman had to be desperate. He had worked for her for a long time now, but he had never seen anyone rattle Carolyn Martens the way Eve Polastri had. 

It was one thing for old woman to come up with an experiment of how far Polastri would go to emulate her girl-crush, Villanelle, and to actually push him on the subway tracks. That was clever. He was being watched and listened to even as Polastri had crept up behind him with a murderous expression on her otherwise impassive face. Then came the word from Carolyn’s idiot son and the hidden mic in his ear warned him to turn around and face her before she could push him to his death. 

“Sorry,” was all she had mumbled before he dismissed her with a glare and stepped on the tube, but inside he was slightly unnerved by the experiment. 

_What if Martens had stopped her son from telling me and they allowed Polastri to push me on the tracks?_ Mason couldn’t put it past that cold cunt. She had done worse for lessor reasons. He knew because he usually had done it for Carolyn. 

Now he was checking his gun, slipping a switchblade into his jacket pocket and checking his ankle holster for his extra pistol. Now he was about to retire two M16 agents. 

Nigel Mason’s ambitions did not make him stupid. He knew even Carolyn’s power couldn’t keep him from facing a board of inquiry, but she still retained enough clout to minimize and control the scope of the investigation. It wouldn’t be hard to come up with a plausible scenario to cover his ass _._

_Well, sirs and madams, I was attempting to notify Mr. Brock of our off-hours meeting Mrs. Martens had conducted with Eve Polastri urging her to stop lying and come clean, but when I found him, Polastri had already shot him and was about to shoot me next._

_Fortunately, I was faster. I only wish I had gotten there in time to save Mr. Brock from that wretched traitor!_

It would be a mess, but it would be a containable mess. Then Carolyn would owe him and owe him _big_. This was Mason’s ticket to becoming a field agent and the license to kill that came with it. There was nothing more he desired than the exalted status of a spy who could go wherever and do whatever under the auspices of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

First though, Mason needed a little insurance policy. As soon as he got the call, he didn’t just answer it, he recorded it. There was no fucking way he was going to allow Martens to delay his promotion and deny him the action and adventure he craved. It was why he had joined MI6 in the first place! 

He wanted to be James Bond. Not the fictional one. A _real_ one. 

If it took killing two fools standing between him and the glory he sought, it wasn’t that big of a deal. The ends would justify the means. As his old grandfather had told him during his war stories, “ _Who dares wins”_ was the motto of the Special Air Service in World War II. 

He dared. 

Mason slipped on his leather jacket and zipped it up. He had some idea of where Brock’s fabled closet was located. Tapping that alcoholic idiot Hathaway for info on the mysterious Mr. Brock’s little hangouts and way of thinking was the only reason he kept taking that drunken sot from pub to pub every Friday and Saturday night for weeks now. 

Smiling to himself, Brock slipped his phone into his jacket pocket, felt the comfortable weight on his gun in its holster, patted the bulge lovingly and started humping down the stairway to the lower levels. He took the steps two at a time. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Before we get started, I’m going to need some of my personal items, Mr. Brock,” Eve said. Brock, busily shoveling papers back into his briefcase, only nodded and replied, “Right. Not a problem.”

Eve noted Brock’s entire demeanor had changed. He seemed…resigned. She still didn’t care for Brock, but she felt he wasn’t a bad guy as much as he was an unlikeable prick. Which pretty much mirrored how she viewed Nico these days.

 _Nico_. She realized she hadn’t even asked Brock or any of the guards about him. Did he even know she was alive? The only person constantly in her thoughts was Villanelle. She didn’t know if he even knew what had happened to Eve since the shitshow in Rome. 

When this was over, she’d have to talk with her husband. Her soon-to-be- _ex_ -husband, but Nico deserved to hear that bit of news from Eve’s own lips. 

Before he snapped his briefcase shut, in the dimness of the weak little light bulb, Eve caught a glimpse of Brock’s Walther PKK pistol. _It’s 2019. Who still carries a briefcase_?

“Something you want to say, Miss Park?”

Eve knew she had Brock by the short and curlies. He didn’t like her. He certainly didn’t **_trust_ ** her. _Hey, the feeling’s mutual, buddy._ However, Brock had nothing solid enough to even bruise Carolyn, never mind burying her. All he had was the hope the deal we had just shook hands on was perhaps Brock’s last best chance to taking down his personal Great White Whale. 

_Moby Martens._

If he let this chance get by him how long would he have to wait for another chance to get Carolyn where it hurt? A year? Five years? Longer? 

_Women outlive men, Mr Brock. You might not want to let the bus pass you by. Might be a while before another one comes this way_ ….

Brock lifted his head and looked directly at the woman before him. As he was seeing her for the first time, “Are you about to gloat, Miss Park?”

Eve smiled widely, but said nothing. No need to. That smile had spoken volumes. 

“I suggest you don’t,” Brock snapped. “You haven’t won yourself a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card. You bought yourself some time, that’s all. You got one shot and one shot only at coming at Carolyn in a way you don’t think she has anticipated and already prepared for.”

Eve’s smile continued to illuminate the room even brighter than the dim bulb. She said nothing. Brock suddenly got very curious to see how resilient that smile was.

“Surely, after all the ways Carolyn has manipulated you, you don’t suddenly think you’re better at it this game than she is? “

The smile faded. Just a bit.

“Because if she is, then she wins, I lose, but you? You’re FUCKED!” 

Eve’s eyes snapped open, blinked several times and she nervously ran a hand through her messy hair. 

The smile? Gone. Like it had never been there. Now it was Brock who grinned his best Cheshire cat grin. 

Yep, Eve mused. He’s a real bastard. But even a bastard can be right.

Brock turned and headed for the door. Eve trailed a few steps behind him. 

As his left hand reached for the light switch, Brock’s head turned to face over his right shoulder to look at Eve. 

_Was he about to open the door for me like he was a real gentleman and let me walk out first like I’m a real lady?_

“Hurry up, woman,” he snarled at her. “No lollygagging. Lots of work to do.” 

Which is why when Mr. Ian Brock opened the door, it was _he_ who caught the first shot from Mr. Nigel Mason’s gun as it ripped through the meat and bone of his left shoulder sending him tumbling back into the room and on top of a very startled Ms. Eve Park.

If she had gone through the door first Mason’s shot would have blasted away the top of her head. That was what Eve would have thought if she didn’t have 190 pounds of an old MI6 agent lying on top of her screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs and crushing hers, as his warm spittle landed on her face.

Mason stepped into the room and slammed the door behind him. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Done with her last meeting of the morning, Carolyn strode purposefully back to her office, nodding but not stopping to speak to the various agents and staffers who smiled and offered her a hearty “Good morning, Mrs. Martens,” Carolyn had no time and even less interest in making small talk and insincere pleasantries. 

They were only being polite because they wanted something from her. Carolyn wasn’t interested in being liked. Being respected and feared was all that mattered. 

As he entered the waiting room to her office, her secretary, Miss Moss smiled broadly and said, “Hello, Mrs. Martens. Your son is waiting for you in your office.”

Carolyn forced a tight smile on her face and mumbled, “Thank you. Miss Moss. Please hold my calls for the next hour.” 

“Very good, ma’am.”

Carolyn opened the door to see Kenny hunched over her laptop with a determined frown on his young features.

“Kenny?,” she said sharply, “What are you doing to my computer?” 

He looked up and waved a hand, but the frown never left his face, “Hi, mum.” 

“You didn’t answer my question, Kenny.”

Now he did look up and replied, “Someone was trying to hack into your computer. They installed a Trojan and it was trying to copy your personal files. I stopped it before it finished, but I’m trying to figure out what they were able to access before I got rid of the malware.”

“What?” Carolyn said. “Who did it? What did they access?”

Kenny swallowed hard, “I’m not sure yet. Whatever you had in your personal files, they got. I just hope you didn’t have anything too sensitive in there.” 

Carolyn took a mental inventory. No, she _didn’t_ have anything too sensitive in there, not of a national security risk, but she did have saved emails, correspondence and other not-too-flattering exchanges between herself and Konstantin about Villanelle and Eve. 

She had meant to delete those documents, but hadn’t gotten around to it. _Dammit._

“Mum?” Kenny said as he cocked his head in her direction.

“Hmm?’ Carolyn muttered and rubbed her forehead. “Oh. No, don’t worry about it, Kenny. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“Okay. I’m going to back up all your work and then wipe the hard drive, reinstall all the applications and install new firewalls and anti-virus software.” He almost sounded happy. 

“Yes, dear. You do what you think is best.”

“Are you going to report this security breach? We’re supposed to let the cyber security team know about this immediately.”

Carolyn shuddered inwardly, “I’ll take care of it, dear. You just take care of my computer.”

“Okay, mum.” Kenny said as he picked up Carolyn’s computer and walked to the door. “Are we still going to lunch at 1:00 today?”

“Yes. Yes, we are,” Carolyn responded rapidly losing interest and patience with this entire conversation. Didn’t she already have enough on her mind already for God’s sake?

Kenny stopped at the door, then turned around to face his mother. 

“Uhhh...mum? Can I ask you a question?”

Carolyn didn't bother to conceal her annoyance, “Well, you just did, Kenny, but if you want to ask me a second one, please do. I’m very busy.”

“Well, I was just wondering if you are still angry at Eve?”

Carolyn looked up from the papers she was pretending to be poring over. She looked over her glasses and said quietly, “Why would you think I’m angry at Eve Polastri?”

“Well...well, because I know you don’t like her very much and she’s being interrogated by Mr. B-Brock.” Kenny stammered nervously. “Are you worried he might find out how badly the Rome operation was botched?”

“Botched?” Carolyn shot back, “Who says it was ‘botched?’ Peel is dead and MI6 got his weaponized software. That is a win, not a botch, Kenny.”

“Yes, mum.” Kenny mumbled and dropped his gaze to the carpet. “Sorry.”

“Not an issue, Kenny.” she sighed. “Please take care of my computer while I notify the cyber group of the data breach.” Carolyn reached for the phone.

“Okay, mum. I’ll see you at lunch.” Kenny said with a smile. 

She said nothing as he closed the door behind her. Placing the phone back on the cradle, she closed her eyes and reclined in her high back leather chair. Carolyn felt tired. She was frustrated by not knowing what Brock and Polastri were up to.

She also wondered how much longer it would be until Mr. Mason called her to report they were both dead. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
_Shit!_

Eve huffed and tried to push Brock off of her, but she had no leverage. He was still yelling and clutching at his left shoulder which was spurting blood all over his suit and his starched white shirt was turning cherry red. 

“Awfully sorry about this, old man,” Mason smirked. “It’s nothing personal. Carolyn just wants you dead and I’m here to make you both that way.” 

Eve’s eyes snapped open and she looked around for something--- _anything_ \---she could use to distract Mason before he pulled the trigger. 

Her eyes latched on Brock’s briefcase. He had dropped it when he was shot and it had fallen out of his reach.

But not hers.

Eve propped her legs under Brock’s back and pushed him off of her, ignoring the old man’s yelp of painful protest. As Mason raised his gun, she flailed for Brock’s briefcase, snagged the handle with her right hand and swung it toward Mason in a wide arc. 

Eve got lucky. 

Brock’s briefcase slammed into Mason’s left shoulder and sent him staggering backwards as he squeezed the trigger on his SIG Sauer P226R. The shot smashed into the floor right next to Eve’s left ear. 

“FUCK!!!!” Mason and Eve screamed at the same time. 

Mason lost his balance and staggered against the metal door as Eve scrambled to her feet. 

Mason still had his gun. Eve had nothing but nails and teeth and fingernails and fury as Brock yelped in agony. 

_Fuck him. I’ll have to do this myself._

Eve jumped on Mason’s back. Before he could react she wrapped her arms around him and sank her incisors deeply into his neck biting, down hard. As Mason screamed in exquisite agony, Eve ripped a meaty chunk out of his neck. 

She smiled a devilish smile as she tasted the spicy mix of blood and flesh. 

Eve spat the bloody flesh from her mouth as her lips were suddenly coated crimson. 

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Mason screamed. He staggered backwards and slammed Eve into the wall. She tucked her head as her back and shoulders took the impact. She avoided a concussion, but the impact made her lose her grip and she slid to the floor in a heap, landing on her butt.

Which gave her an excellent opportunity to kick Mason firmly in the balls. 

Mason yelped like a struck dog as the sneakered foot connected. He gasped and grabbed his crotch, dropping the gun to the floor. Eve scrambled to reach it, but before her fingertips could brush the weapon, Mason unleashed a vicious kick to her stomach. 

“That’s not yours, you cunt,” he snarled as Eve rolled into a metal chair. She looked up gasping for breath as Mason hobbled toward his gun. _How the hell is he still standing bleeding out like a stuck pig?_

Brock’s right arm shot out and grabbed Mason’s leg, yanking the agent backward as he landed squarely on Brock’s chest. Brock grunted and suppressed a yell as the younger man’s weight settled heavily on his chest. 

Mason reached into his jacket pocket and yanked the switchblade out. With practiced ease, he flicked it open. He was becoming dizzy from the blood spurting from his neck wound, but all he had to do was kill these two old fucks and he could get patched up. No problem. He clamped his left hand over his neck. This could all be done with his good right hand.

Like a football player, Eve threw her full weight into Mason’s left side, but righted herself before she landed on top of him. Brock scrambled away, as Eve pushed the table into Mason, pinning him to the wall. 

This was not an acceptable option. Mason easily had 140 pounds on Eve, who had never been particularly heavy, but now she was trying to keep a cursing, yelling, bleeding MI6 agent from killing her as he swung the switchblade in wide arcs slashing through the air.

Mason dropped his left hand to the table and began to push it back and away from him as Eve leaned into it.

“Nice try, Polastri, but you’re only delaying the inevitable.”

Eve’s head whipped around to Brock and snapped, “Hey, Brock? A little help, here?” He glared back, but panting heavily he wobbled to one knee. Brock pushed himself to his feet and leaned into the table. His added weight and muscle shoved the table away from them and pinned Mason’s back to the wall. 

Briefly. 

Brock’s waning strength was ebbing fast as he felt himself losing consciousness. Even in the gloom of the dimly lit room, Eve could see it in his eyes.

“Get---get the goddamned gun, Eve!” 

“NO!” Mason snarled like a wild beast, and with a sudden burst of strength , he grabbed the table, yanked it toward him with both hands then flipped it over as Brock staggered backwards. Eve was already lunging across the dirty and yellowed tile floor. 

Eve dove for the SIG Sauer. Mason took two long strides closing the gap and then he was looming over the scrambling woman. Mason raised the switchblade up over his head.

“Here it comes, you fucking dyke.”

The arm swooped down as Eve grabbed the gun, rolled over to her side and swiveled the gun up, clutching it in both hands. She squeezed the trigger and thunder filled the room.

Mason gasped as the first round bit into his chest. Then a second man-stopping bullet bore a hole in his right shoulder. The switchblade clattered to the floor as Mason’s arm drooped uselessly to his side. 

The agent flailed backward as he struggled to keep his balance. His eyes were wide and a disbelieving look was frozen to his face.

“You---you shot me,” he gasped. Mason backed against the wall and looked down at the seeping chest wound. “You fucking SHOT ME!” He slumped to the floor.

Eve pushed herself up off the floor and stood over Mason as his head lolled and rolled. 

“I should have killed you in the tube,” she said softly. “I’ll correct that mistake now.”

“Fuck you, Polastri,” Mason grinned through his bloody mouth. 

“DON’T KILL HIM! WE NEED INFORMATION FROM HIM!,” Brock cried out. 

The sound of his scream was drowned out by the three shots Eve fired into Mason’s head. She continued pointing the gun at what little was left of it. 

“You’ll have to get your answers in the next life, Brock. He’s done with this one.” 

Brock moaned and sat down against the wall. Eve glanced over at him and then back to Mason. She admired her handiwork for a moment, then she too sagged down to the grimy, crimson-stained floor. 

She felt nothing. Not exhilaration. Not exhaustion. She just felt empty. 

Maybe Villanelle got a rush from killing someone, but for Eve killing was tough and dirty and messy. She just wanted to take a nice, long, hot bath and she wasn’t normally a bath person. 

_Maybe that’s why Villanelle loves baths so much?_

The hand on her shoulder shook her out of her daze. 

“Nice work, Ms. Park,” Brock croaked in a weak whisper. “I think I’m going to need some paramedics.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Right.” Eve looked around and saw Brock’s briefcase. “Your phone in there?”

“Oh, Christ, no,” Brock mumbled. “I left it upstairs in my office. I didn’t want to take a chance of being tracked.”

They both simultaneously glanced at the shattered husk of Nigel Mason. 

“Check his pockets.”

Eve nodded and crawled carefully toward Mason. She reached for the Sig Sauer because even though he certainly looked dead, Eve was in no mood to find out if MI6 training included how to fake your death following being shot repeatedly in the chest and head.

No sound came from Mason but a soft gurgling sound like a creek on a warm summer day. 

Eve ran her free hand over Mason’s trouser leg and found his second gun. She plucked it free and shoved it in her waistband. Rolling the corpse over she pulled his wallet out and flipped it to Brock. 

She slipped her hand into Mason’s jacket and found his iPhone. It was turned on, but the phone was password protected. Eve wasn’t about to waste time trying to figure it out. She reached for Mason’s right hand.

“What the hell are you doing, Eve?” Brock said with a confused (and pained) expression. 

“Checking to see if he activated his fingerprint ID,” she replied as she pressed the bloody fingers on the sensor. 

The index finger did the trick. Eve looked for a signal, but there were no bars. 

“I’ll have to find somewhere I can make a call, Brock” she said as she backed away from the body and back up on her feet. For a moment Eve thought she might throw up from the coppery smell of all the blood. She choked down the bile and swallowed hard. 

She took a quick inventory. She was scratched and bruised and her back was aching, but all things considered she was in much better shape than Brock. Definitely better than Mason. 

“Would you be so kind as to help me into a chair, Eve?” She glanced over at Brock. He was getting pale and obviously he was in excruciating agony. 

“Yeah, sure.” She shuffled over to the old man and extended her right hand. Brock stared at Eve for a moment. Then he grasped her hand and pushed himself up long enough to stagger and collapse into the chair.

“I think we can say we got Carolyn’s undivided attention, eh?”

Eve looked around in a daze. Coming out of the fog she was in she laughed. 

“Yeah. Can’t argue with you there. I’m going to call for help.”

Brock sighed deeply. “Yes. That’s an excellent idea. Do that please?” He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

“Don’t die on me, Brock,” Eve said as she opened the door. “We still have a deal, remember?”

“I’m bloody well unlikely to forget, don’t you think?” he groaned as his eyelids fluttered. 

Eve slipped into the hallway and began walking back toward the steps.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She had gone up three flights of steps before she got the sign that the phone had found a network connection.

“Thank Christ for small favors,” Eve mumbled. She searched her mental phone book for the M16 emergency line and punched in a series of numbers.

“M16 Operations Desk. Please provide your access number.”

She frowned. The only access number she recalled was her ID badge. She typed in the seven digits and waited.

“Access Denied.”

Eve sighed and rolled her eyes. She was exhausted and sore and now that she had time to think about it, she was hungry too. Apparently, killing a grown man whets the appetite. Who knew?

She retyped the ID. The automated message repeated itself. “Fuck this shit!” Eve hissed. She dialed the main desk and instantly heard a human voice that said pleasantly, “This is M16. How may I help you?”

“Listen up! I’m down in the sub-basement of MI6. An agent has been shot and he’s badly wounded. We need emergency services right now!” Eve barked.

“Uhh...who did you say you were, ma’am? Are you an agent? Why are you calling on an unsecured line? Please identify yourself.” the voice inquired 

“My name is Eve Par--- _Polastri_ . I was in M15, but I was transferred to M16 by Carolyn Martens and I need you to stop asking me dumb-ass questions and get me some help down here because Mr. Brock is dying _right fucking now, lady!”_

“Please hold the line, ma’am,” the voice replied as the phone was set down, but not placed on hold. A serious breach of protocol that would doubtlessly earn the receptionist an unpaid week off as punishment, but following the standard operating procedure was the furthest thing from Eve’s whirling mind. 

She sat down on the steps and looked at the phone. She could hear furious conversations coming over the other line, but it was just babble and noise. Until a man’s voice cut through the static.

“Eve Polastri? This is Cam Hathaway. What happened? Where’s Mr. Brock?”

“Hathaway,” Eve repeated wearily. “Brock’s been shot. We were attacked by Carolyn’s bodyguard. We need help.”

“What the hell? _Mason?_ _Nigel Mason_ tried to kill you?” Hathaway shouted. 

“Yeah. He did. But I killed him,” she replied numbly. “We’re down in Brock’s little closet. It’s a real mess. You guys coming?” 

“We’re on the way!’ Hathaway yelled before he sounded the alarm to lock down Vauxhall Cross down, secure the perimeter and hold in place until further instructions. As the Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service was about to enter 10 Downing Street for a meeting with the Prime Minister, the loud alert from his phone startled him so badly he narrowly avoided an embarrassing situation in his trousers. 

A cacophony of klaxons, flashing strobe lights, and sirens filled the air and crushed all other sound.. Instead of harsh and discordant, Eve found them oddly soothing. She was becoming accustomed to the world falling apart in slow motion around her. Such was life after Hurricane Villanelle had blown through her life and left her crawling from the wreckage. 

Eve was developing a liking of the music of Chaos. Not so much the noise of shoes pounding down the steps and growing closer. She slipped Mason’s phone in her bra.

“Hello, Hathaway,” Eve said with a small wave of her hand. Hathaway’s gun was drawn as were the weapons of the half-dozen M16 agents behind him. 

“Hold your fire,” Hathaway yelled. “She’s not a hostile. Do not fire!” He gaped at the dazed woman staring back at him with blood splattered all over her clothes and face. Eve’s adrenaline rush had crested and was ebbing away. 

_The last time I felt this way was after Villanelle shot me and I thought I was dying._

“Simmons,” he barked and a young man appeared behind him. “Sir!” he responded. 

“Get this woman back upstairs and to Medical. Do not stop for anyone short of the Director himself. Clear?”

Simmons saluted Hathaway and barked, “Yes sir! Come along, ma’am, if you please.”

Eve looked up and took Simmons’ extended hand. “Such a gentleman,” she smiled. 

Hathaway shot Eve a puzzled look, then continued the descent to the sub-basement level. The rest of the team armed with weapons and carrying a first-aid kit and stretcher, disappeared behind him. 

Simmons half-lifted, half-carried Eve’s unprotesting body up the steps and when they stepped into the brightly-lit lobby, she had to raise an arm to block out the harsh lighting. 

“Shit. I can’t see yet.” Every head in the lobby turned to gaze at the red-soaked woman. 

“Please follow me, ma’am. I have to get you to Medical,” Simmons urged as he tugged one of the few white areas on Eve’s bloodied shirt sleeve. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Good idea,” Eve murmured. “Wow, I am _so_ hungry. I could really go for a burger.” 

Eve took a faltering step as her eyeballs rolled up in her head. She pitched forward and dropped into Simmons’ arm unconscious before she landed.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As all of MI6 went into security protocol, no one was allowed in or out of the building. The only communications permitted were through multi-encrypted scramblers. All electronic traffic was either cut off, heavily restricted and constantly monitored through a series of satellites spinning around the globe. 

Even the Great Kenny Stowton was locked down tighter than a drum head. At Carolyn’s direction he was attempting to intercept all the phone calls, emails, text messages, and verbal conversation within the entire espionage agency. He didn’t have the computers, servers, routers, and other equipment with him to even do a half-ass, rush job. 

He didn’t have the software with him to even translate all the data that was written in codes he couldn’t decode. Languages he couldn’t translate and tongues he couldn’t speak. 

Kenny could not do what his Mum demanded he do. 

Mum was always expecting Kenny to make magic with science to give her whatever she needed whenever she needed it. She didn’t care about the means that provided it. She only wanted the ends of it. 

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Maybe he should try to narrow his search and just find one phone from one person. That’s the one Mum cares about the most in the first place.

Humming happily, Kenny booted up his laptop and began searching for a way to get around the MI6 data shutdown, and as soon as he did, he’d track down Nigel Mason’s phone. Mum would be able to ask him herself for that status report update she insisted she should have received by now. 

The prospect of pleasing Carolyn and the likelihood she would praise him for all his hard work gave Kenny a warm and cozy feeling. What son wouldn’t want to please his Mum?

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was hard for Brock to see what was left of Mason’s face from the angle of the chair he was precariously balancing himself on and the general blurriness and unpleasant buzzing in his head.

What he could see wasn’t very pretty. Brain tissue and bone fragments splashed all over the wall. If he leaned the right way, Brock thought maybe half of Mason’s head had been blown away. 

_Not bad shooting for a novice. She got the devil’s luck or she’s tougher than she looks_... 

Hathaway’s panting form suddenly filled the doorway. “Sir!!! Are you alright?” He leaned over and touched his boss on the right shoulder. 

Brock stirred, blinked up at Hathaway and hissed, “Are you daft _and_ blind, man? Can’t you see I’ve been shot to pieces?” 

Hathaway stole a look over his shoulder at the very dead Mr. Mason. He’d have to buy his own drinks now. 

“ _Well?_ ” Brock snapped.

Hathaway bellowed, “I need those EMT’s in here, right fucking now! Move your asses!” 

“You certainly took your time, Mr. Hathaway. I was beginning to wonder if I scored you too high on your last job evaluation.”

Hathaway’s shoulders sagged as he realized how badly he had fucked up and how Brock would have no pity on him once he found out Mason had been playing him with drinks for info on his boss.

“Yes sir. Terribly sorry about it, sir. I found Mrs. Polastri on the way down and she…”

Brock cut him off and raised his right hand in a _you’ve talked enough and now you are going to listen and listen good_ gesture.

“First off, I don’t want your excuses. I pay you for results. I can get excuses from any junkie, drunk or whore on the street,” Brock wheezed through gritted teeth as the EMT’s began checking his shoulder wound as well as what was probably a broken rib or two.

Brock’s right hand remained raised, so Hathaway remained silent. The other agents were securing the scene, taking photographs and otherwise looking engaged in activities other than listening in as Brock began tearing Hathaway a new hole.

“Secondly, I have a very good idea how our late Mr. Mason was able to ascertain with astonishing accuracy where The Closet is, and please believe me, Mr. Hathaway, we _will_ be having words about this at a later time.”

Hathaway tried to swallow, but only hacked slightly when he realized he had no spit left in his desert dry mouth. 

“Lastly, the _only_ hope in hell you have of salvaging the desiccated remnants of your otherwise unremarkable career is you personally take charge of protecting the body and life of Eve Park---not Polastri---until I am discharged from the hospital and can resume direct supervision of this matter.”

Hathaway remained frozen at attention and wishing he could melt like a puddle and mingle with the coagulating blood all over the floor. 

“It is customary to reply “SIR!” when you are being addressed by a superior officer, MR. HATHAWAY!” 

Hathaway saluted and yelped, “SIR!” 

A slight smile creeped over Brock’s face. Right before he passed out.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve eyes snapped open.

_Where the fuck am I?_

She gazed down. Her bloodied clothes were gone and she was in a hospital gown. The kind that tie up in the back but never completely cover your ass. 

She ran her hands over her arms and torso. Nothing broken, not much even bent. She had a few minor cuts, scrapes and abrasions, but nothing that wouldn’t heal. 

_Some blind angel must have smiled on me. That, or St. Villanelle the Bad just felt like fucking with me again_.

Eve smiled inwardly at the thought. She was still hungry, but for now sleep was good. Resting was good. Dreaming was good. Thinking about what she wanted to do with Villanelle was good...

 _Wait a minute. Wait one goddamned minute. Where were her clothes? Wait--nevermind the clothes. Where was the_ **_phone_ ** _?_

With her bushy mane flying wildly around her Eve sat bolt upright in the bed and nearly caused a nurse who was striding toward her with some pills and a cup of water to spill both. 

“Where are my things?” Eve asked.

“Mrs. Polastri, please--”

“My name is NOT Polastri. It’s PARK!” Eve cried out. 

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said and backed up a step. “I’m sorry, Miss Park. Don’t hurt me!”

Eve stared at the slack-jawed woman. 

“Look, I’m not going to hurt you,” she said in a calm voice. “I’d just like to know where my phone is.” 

The nurse jabbed a finger at a closet beside the bed. Eve froze her soul-deep with a chilly dead-eyed stare, and said in a low, scary voice, “Uh---if you don’t mind getting it for me?”

She scurried around the bed and opened the closet. She found Mason’s phone on a shelf with Eve’s bloodied shoes and presented it to her like a Xmas present. 

“Thanks,” Eve nodded. “Oh, are those pills for me?” 

“Yes ma’am,” the nurse replied in a squeaky voice.  
  
“Good. I got it from here,” Eve said and jerked a thumb toward the door. The nurse scurried out the door and closed it behind her. 

Eve held Mason’s phone in front of her. It was locked again and this time she didn’t have his dead fingers to use the fingerprint option. 

She’d have to figure out his password. 

She thought about it for a while. Took the pills. Took a chance they weren’t poisoned. 

She recalled how many attempts you could make entering the wrong passcode for this model of iPhone before it locked the phone. Five failed attempts, the iPhone will lock for one minute, six attempts will lock it for five minutes, seven will lock it for 15, and anything more than that will lock it for one hour.

She figured it out on the third try. _Jamesbond007_. Naturally. 

Eve went through all of Mason’s text, emails, and voicemails. An interesting tidbit here or there, but nothing meaty. She ran her hands through her hair. 

She swiped over to Recordings. And listened. Rewound it. Played it again. 

_Mandatory Retirement._ She didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she knew exactly whose voice was on the line saying it to Mason and when they had said it.

 _A kill order is a kill order is a kill order, no matter how you try to dress it up_. 

She looked up to see Hathaway entering the room with a small entourage of agents accompanying him. She recognized one of them as her guard from the safehouse, Miss Sanchez.

“Hey, Sanchez,” Eve waved. Sanchez froze in her place and stared back at the Asian woman with the amazing hair. She gave a small wave back. 

“Miss Park? I have been instructed by Mr. Brock to personally supervise your security detail. We will be leaving the infirmary and moving you to another location for your safety.”

Eve nodded then said, “How is Mr. Brock?”

Hathaway smiled slightly and said, “Oh, he’ll be fine, ma’am. He wanted them to give him some Percocet and patch up the hole in his shoulder, but the Director instructed the EMT’s to ignore him and take Mr. Brock to the hospital. He’s being guarded as well and his family moved to a secure location.”

“Oh, I didn’t know Mr. Brock was married. And he has kids too?” Eve said being overly polite to someone she largely detested. 

Hathaway scrunched up his face and replied, “To tell you the truth, Miss Park, I didn’t know it either and I’ve worked for him for seven years now.”

Eve gave Hathaway a wan smile. She looked down at the iPhone clutched in her hand then looked back up at the big man’s curious face. 

“Hey, Hathaway? Let me ask you a question….’  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“When I say work I only mean writing. Everything else is just odd jobs.”_  
>  —Margaret Laurence
> 
> Confession time, kiddies. 
> 
> I have never written fiction before. I don't mean I haven't written fiction in a long time. I mean I haven't written fiction _at all at any time_ and I've been writing for a looooonnng time. How long? Nunya. None of ya business, but let's just say when I buy a bottle of wine and the cashier asks for ID, I smile and say, "You're sweet." 
> 
> If not for A03 I wouldn't be writing fiction now either. If it wasn't for talented young wordsmiths like **Vforvillanelle** , I probably still wouldn't. 
> 
> Inspiration is to a writer as fuel to an airplane or race car. Without it, you can't write. Sorry, but them's da facts. You can't write out of duty or obligation or because you're faking the funk. The writer can half-ass it and try to fool themselves, but they can't fool the reader. They can smell the inauthentic and the perfunctory and the phoned-in. They know when you're going through the motions. Don't cheat the reader. Don't cheat yourself.
> 
> We all live for a compliment, but we learn more from the mistakes, and while I hope the readers never stop telling me what I'm doing wrong, I do enjoy being told I'm doing it right. 
> 
> I give my most sincere **THANK YOU** to vforvillanelle. She is a wizard with words and she has a finely calibrated B.S. Detector. Going over this chapter she poked a few holes in what I thought was a carefully constructed tapestry. But you know something, what most writers need is not simply empty accolades, but constructive and helpful advice. It's a damn dirty shame how so many of you will never know what its like when you submit what you consider a beautiful baby to an editor and they send it back to you covered in red pencil and a note that your pride and joy is ugly and smells bad. 
> 
> It doesn't make you exactly feel _good_ , but unless you can recognize your failures, how will you know what success looks like. Appreciate my sista from another mista, vforvillanelle. And if you're not reading "Vital Signs" you are bad at life. Fix yourself. 
> 
> I love _Killing Eve_ and the wealth of opportunities Luke Jennings created and Phoebe Waller-Bridge perfected and Sandra Oh, Jodie Comer and Fiona Shaw breathed life into. I love this writing community too. Maybe once I finish pouring over the KE fanfic, I'll get out of the A03 wading pool and go splash around in the other waters and see what the temperature is like there.
> 
> But for now, y'all are my tribe and even if I don't always like what you've written, I will never stop encouraging you to keep writing and get better tomorrow than you are today. 
> 
> Because that's what you are doing for me. I appreciate you.


	8. The Eighth Taste of Sin: The Dangerous Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve just shot a man to death and she's pretty much okay with that. Anything and anyone who stands between her and hunting down Villanelle are obstacles to go around if possible. 
> 
> Go through if not.

As it turned out, the late and unlamented Mr. Mason had been half-wrong.

Carolyn was able to contain the damage. Some of it. She hadn’t been questioned. She certainly hadn’t been arrested. As if anyone would have the audacity to interrogate the chief officer leading the Russia Desk as to why her personal bodyguard had apparently gone berserk and savagely attacked a senior MI official and one of her former employees.

In the aftermath, the security detail for all MI6 executive staff had been doubled and reinforced. There were armed guards inside and outside of Carolyn’s home. Around the clock, 24-7, no days off. The Director was taking this threat very seriously and despite her protests that she was perfectly safe he had simply patted Carolyn on the hand and in a disgusting display of paternalism and said, “Yes, I know its a major inconvenience, dear, but this is standard operating procedure for all MI6 executive leadership.”

It wasn’t. Carolyn knew the standard operating procedure. She had helped write it. This was The Director letting her know, _We know you’re involved in what Mason did, but we don’t know how deeply involved in this fuckery you really are. We’re putting you on ice until we do._

This was all very awkward for Carolyn. Every inch of her home was crawling with strangers and cameras and mics and other devices all intended to slip a noose around her neck. She hadn’t been able to reach her liaison with The Twelve before MI6 had for all intents and purposes cut off all her contacts to the outside world.

As she sat at the dining room table nursing a cup of tea, watching two “guards” laughing and talking about last night’s football game Carolyn felt the twinge of a rare and alien emotion pass through her.

_A loss of control._

Something needed to be done about it.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Carolyn chafed under de facto house arrest, other wheels were turning. Such as the wheels of the grey Toyota RAV4 that glided through the puddles of the warm evening rain to stop in front of 39 Finsbury Court, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Polastri.

Rosalyn Sanchez gazed down at her iPhone then back up at the address. She turned off the engine, grabbed the keyfob, and held the plastic trash bag she had brought with her over her head to protect her recently styled hair.  
“Shit. Do I need this?” she growled as she rang the doorbell. The rain started coming down harder.

Sanchez jabbed the doorbell again. There were no lights on in the house. She opened her handbag and fumbled for a key ring. Among Eve’s personal effects recovered in the wake of the Rome misadventure were her house keys. Sanchez held it up to the street light since the one on the porch wasn't on.

She didn’t want this job. Didn’t want to be personally assigned to the Eve Polastri security detail. Didn’t like it for one minute when this big asshole named Hathaway had barged into the safehouse like he owned it and immediately started tearing into her. For the next 20 minutes, Sanchez was standing stiffly at attention while the big asshole put her on blast for her failure to notify anyone of Martens’ late night meeting with Polastri.

“Now I know you got the job because you’re filling a quota and you’re easy on the eyes, Sanchez, but neither of those things are gonna keep you on the job when you’re fucking up like this,” Hathaway said with an ugly grin.

“Sir, with all due respect--” Sanchez replied.

“Shut up, Sanchez,” he snarled. “You are on the Shit List. You are on the Shit Lists of people you don’t even know exist. You are one smart-ass crack away from your exciting new career as a barista at a fucking Starbucks, so if you’re smart, you’ll shut up and listen.”

Sanchez’s cheeks flushed red with fury at this _puta madre_ , but she said nothing. The hostility in her glare was unmistakable, but Hathaway ignored it.

“A gentleman you don’t know and if you’re lucky will never meet has made a deal with Eve Park. Please do not call her ‘Polastri.’ While she was in the hospital she threw a bedpan at a nurse who called her by her married name.”

Sanchez’s eyebrow raised.

“It wasn’t an empty bedpan either,” Hathaway mused thoughtfully. “Quite a temper on our Eve.”

“Ugh,” Sanchez grunted.

“Yeah,” Hathaway said still looking lost in a particularly fascinating thought. “Anyway, for reasons unbeknownst to me, Eve likes you, Sanchez and she personally requested that you be on her protection detail. Nobody was going to fight for that honor in your place.”

Now that--- _that_ actually creeped Sanchez out a bit. What possible good could come from a psycho bitch like Eve Polastri liking her?

Sanchez shuddered. Just a little bit, but noticeable to Hathaway’s piercing green eyes.

“Yeah, I’d feel the same way if I were you,” he said with sympathy in his voice. “She’s not just bad news, she’s bad.”

A silence fell between them. Sanchez broke it. “So what do I have to do?”

“Nothing much,” Hathaway responded, and stuck his hand inside his shirt pocket. “Here’s a list of crap Polastri wants from her house. You go and get them. Here’s a key if her hubby isn’t home.”

Sanchez sighed and turned her palm upward. Hathaway smiled and dropped the key her hand.

“Do this right and pretty much everything else you’re told to do from here on, Sanchez. You’re reasonably pretty enough and you have nice tits, so maybe you’ll still have a job when this is all over, “ Hathaway chuckled not bothering to hide the hateful condescension in his voice and demeanor.

_This is exactly the sort of misogynist bullshit I bet Carolyn Martens had to deal with when she joined MI6. Fuck Eve Polastri. What had **she** ever done for women like **her** except conspire against and undercut women like Carolyn?_

_Fuck Eve Polasri._

Sanchez said nothing and outwardly she was as unemotional as the sphinx. Inwardly, she wanted nothing more than to jam her service weapon between Hathaway cigarette-yellowed teeth and pull the trigger.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” She responded blandly.

“Yeah, you might want to watch out for the husband. MI6 agents aren’t his favorite people,” he said with a cigarette-yellowed grin.

Sanchez faced Hathaway. “Why is that, sir?”

“Because apparently Eve’s crazy Russian assassin girlfriend killed hubby’s little something on the side, beat him up and locked him in his own storage locker with her decomposing body.”

The gape of disbelief on Sanchez’s face could not be concealed as effortlessly as her resentment of sexist scumbags like this big asshole. Hathaway’s ugly grin broadened.

“Oh, not to worry. Apparently, Carolyn came along and spread some of her secret agent fairy dust and Mr. Polastri never saw the inside of a jail cell for murdering his mistress,” he said. “The most logical suspect in the murder was absolved in favor of the most illogical one. All in all, except he’s rather unlucky at love, Mr. Polastri has done pretty well for himself, all things considered.”

Hathaway yawned and stretched. Then he gave a little wink to Sanchez before walking away from her, leaving Rosalyn Sanchez an exit line.

“But he has gone a little mad.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve grunted through her morning exercises. She sweated. She upped the weight and doubled the reps. Muscles long dormant were rudely awakened. She was determined to break herself down before she built herself back up.

One does not go chasing after the World’s Best Assassin without cardio. Eve had to make herself stronger if she had any hope of holding onto Villanelle when she finally found her.

And she would find her. She had no other reason to exist otherwise. The old life she had occupied and ended up nearly forever lost within its oppressive dullness had nearly been pulverized from an unscalable mountain to small pebbles and dust.

Eve wasn’t going to miss Eve. Eve had had a nice long run. A real nice long run, but she was all out of road.

 _That_ Eve wanted to be liked. _This_ Eve gave not a fuck.

 _That_ Eve craved the notice of her superiors. _This_ Eve had no superiors.

 _That_ Eve was fond of dick because dick was what she knew. _This_ Eve had loftier ambitions than six inches of limp skin and sex under seven minutes or less.

 _That_ Eve was a coward and a liar and dishonest and mean and had no idea how to dress, kiss, fuck or live. _This_ Eve had nothing but ideas.

 **That** Eve had to die so **this** Eve could live.

But at what cost? What rule wouldn’t she break? What moral code would not be cracked? What depravity would she not commit, deal she would not cut, or line she would not cross if it got her what she wanted and who she wanted?

What were her limits? There was a time when life was nothing but limits for Eve.

_Until Villanelle._

There was only darkness before and the bright shining light of after. Before Villanelle and After Villanelle. That’s what life could be distilled to in the mind of Eve Park.

Only the ugly darkness of Before and the scorching beauty of the After.

Eve wiped away the sweat off her exercises---physical and mental----from her brow. She looked up at the wall clock. She had another 20 minutes before breakfast and then her meeting with Brock to finalize their plans.

“Excuse me, Miss Park?” Eve looked around to see Gossett, one of her new security team peeking around a corner at her.

“Yes, Mr. Gossett?” Eve said with her hands on her hips as perspiration made her skin glisten. .

Except for her cross-trainers, Eve was naked to the world. She had found exercising in the buff to be intensely gratifying as well as amusing since it shocked and embarrassed the shit out of the guards and other staff.

WWVD was Eve’s guiding principle: “What Would Villanelle Do?”

_Shock the bastards and never stop shocking them. Put your foot on their throat and press down hard until they beg you for mercy. Then press down even harder until their eyes bulge and their tongues fall out. Look into their eyes just before the light fades and they shrink into themselves._

_Then defile their graves._

That’s what Villanelle would do. So Eve would do it too.

“You have a visitor, ma’am.”

Eve cocked her head. “Really? Who’s here to see little old me?”

Patton reached behind himself and produced a white linen bathrobe. He tossed it over to Eve who snagged it on the fly.

“I’m not sure, Miss Park. He sounds like a Russkie.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing Sanchez noticed was the smell.

It was impossible not to. It hung in the fetid, stale air. It felt clammy and damp on your skin like a fog. It entered your nose and assaulted it with scents and vapors and odors. It clung to your teeth and tongue when you opened your mouth to suck in a futile fresh breath.

Sanchez could see nothing in the oppressive pitch black hallway. Was the power off? Maybe that would explain the rot and mould and mildew of the kitchen. There were empty McDonald’s bags and open boxes of Chinese and Thai food all over the table and stove. She didn’t need to open the refrigerator to determine what sort of chambers of horrors might exist within.

The smell would tell for itself.

Sanchez floundered for and found a wall switch. Click. Nothing. The electricity had been turned off weeks ago.

Coughing a bit, Sanchez decided to go upstairs for Eve’s clothes and not shorten her life by a minute more due to breathing in all this toxic air. As she neared the steps, she could see from the moonglow casting a beam on the rear courtyard what looked to be a dead chicken.

She wandered closer. Turned on the phone flashlight. Gagged and coughed again.

It was a dead chicken. Two dead chickens to be exact. Their necks had been snapped and at the moment a particularly nasty looking rat was trying to drag away the smaller of the two chickens.

It’s beady red eyes glittered in the light. Hey there, baby. You want some of this?

Sanchez flinched a bit. Damned if that rat hadn’t sounded just like Eve Polastri.

She turned off the phone’s flashlight and started back up the stairs, grabbing the trash bag from where she had dropped it on the floor.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Sanchez froze at the sound of the voice coming from the top of steps. She hesitated to turn her flashlight back on afraid she might startle the figure. And if that figure made any sudden moves Sanchez was terribly afraid she might pull her gun and shoot the bugger in his own home.

She decided not to do that. She did something else.

“Good morning, Mr. Polastri and my pardons for entering your home, but I am with MI6. My name is Agent Sanchez. Please allow me to show you my identification.”

The man laughed. Then he hiccupped. Farted. Belched. And laughed again.

“I don’t care who the fuck you are,” he said. “What do you want?”

“Mr. Polastri?”

“Who the fuck else would I be?” he snarled. The tone in his voice was harsh.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve been sent here to pick up some of Mrs. Polastri’s clothes and toiletries. I’ll be out of your way in ten minutes, sir.”

The figure in the dark didn’t respond. Just stood there looming over Sanchez as if deciding if he was going to indulge her request like a good host would do for a guest or if he was going to fling his bulk and mass on atop of her.

She reached down and unsnapped the strap on her holstered weapon. The figure contemplated her silently for another interminable minute before speaking again.

“Fine. Get up here and get that bitch’s shit out of here. I should have burned it weeks ago.” The figure stepped aside to allow her to pass.

Sanchez ran up the steps and turned right past the man and into the boudoir of Nico and Eve Polastri.

It was a disaster zone. Clothes were strewn everywhere. Furniture broken. Mirrors smashed. Dirty underwear left on the floor. A Soaking wet towel draped over a chair. Sheets hopelessly twisted and pulled off the mattress. Empty and not so empty bottles of beer and Scotch were stacked everywhere there was a flat surface. The not-so-empty bottles were brimming with marinating piss.

That was bad. Nico was worse.

He reeled into the bedroom and leaned on the doorframe glaring at Sanchez as she turned on her phone flashlight. His eyes were as bloody red bloodshot as those of the rat and he looked even meaner.

The malodorous stench of his unbathed body was oppressive in the small confines of the bedroom. Everytime he exhaled or belched, Nico breathed more bad breath, gradually rotting teeth and simple and plain funk into the air tight confines of 39 Finsbury Court.

Neither soap nor water nor toothpaste nor deodorant had encountered Nico’s body in over two weeks. Toilet tissue to minimal effect, but you wouldn’t want to go into the bathroom to confirm it.

Sanchez pulled open drawers and started grabbing cotton panties and cheap bras. She was looking for a specific package in one of the lower drawers and as she feared she was about to face a return visit of yesterday’s lunch right there on the carpet, she located the bag and peeked inside.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Sanchez yelped louder than she intended to.

Sanchez wasn’t a fashionista, but she knew quality stuff when she saw it and everything in this bag was finer, better designed, original and otherwise so far out of Eve Polastri’s orbit as to come from a brand new galaxy.

“Okay, I think this is what she wanted, “ Sanchez said rising from a crouch. “I’ll be out of your hair, Mr. Polastri and on behalf of MI6, I wanted to say----”

He was right there in front of her. He was taking long pulls from another bottle of beer and allowing it to run down the front of his dingy and grey underwear. Niko’s mustache was overgrown and he had the scraggly beginnings of a rough beard. His hair was greasy and matted.

And of course he stunk like a septic tank.

“You going now, agent?” Niko said wiping his arm across his lips.

Sanchez nodded. Held her breath. Nodded again.

“Good. Hey, and if you happen to see Eve, would you give her a message for me?”

“Yes sir,” Sanchez said politely. “I can do that for you.”

“Good.”

Nico stepped closer to Sanchez and she took an involuntary step back and yanked her gun from the holster.

“Please step back, sir. I don’t want to shoot you.” Though she would if he didn’t.

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Nico took two steps back throwing the agent a slight smile.

“You ready for the message?”

“Yes, I am. What is it?” Sanchez said.

“You can tell Eve that it’s her fault all of this happened. Her and that psycho cunt she’s fucking and if I ever see her again, I will break her neck. Both of their necks. Just like a chicken.”

Sanchez swallowed hard but the gun pointing at Nico’s chest never twitched. “I’ll give her the message, sir.”

Snatching up the bag of clothes and items with one hand, Sanchez backed away from Nico, into the hallway and down the steps. She kept her eyes on Nico’s hairy face and her gun ready to spit fire if she were forced to call upon it.

Nico stood at the top of the steps staring down at the agent, but said nothing. Sanchez opened the door, slung the bag over her shoulder and back into the rain. She had bigger concerns than whether her hairstyle survived it.

She punched the push button start and the engine roared to life. Sanchez whipped the car out of the parking spot and stood on the gas pedal as it rocketed down the street.

Nico Polastri padded down the steps and took a look into the dark as the taillights of Sanchez’s car fishtailed around a corner and disappeared. He stepped out on the stoop and took a last pull from the beer bottle, then dashed it to pieces on the steps.

He spat out something green and unpleasant, scratched his ass, then stepped back in and slammed the door behind him.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hello, Konstantin,”

“Eve!” the old man said as he heaved himself up from the sunken confines of a leather chair in the living room area. “How are you? It’s been ages since I last saw you.”

Konstantin had probably gained another 10 or 15 pounds Eve surmised as she gave him a weak and brief hug. He looked far too old and slow and tired to keep up with Villanelle.

Someone who could keep up with Villanelle was needed and she felt qualified to now apply for the job.

“Why are you here, Konstantin?” Eve said curiously. “We aren’t exactly the best of friends and I don’t trust you any further than I can throw you. Carolyn send you to finish the job her boy toy couldn’t?”

The hearty sound of Konstantin’s booming laughter filled the room. Eve allowed herself a slight tee-hee herself, but she kept her arms folded.

“I love that you are such a good hater, Eve. It is the Russian in you coming out,” he guffawed. “Apparently Villanelle has affected you more than I could have guessed.”

“Apparently,” she repeated robotically. Her expression was emotionless as her voice.

Konstantin seemed to take the hint and stopped laughing. He coughed nervously to break the silence since it was obvious Eve wasn’t about to.

“I understand you don’t like me, Eve,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “I have stood between you and Villanelle and she hasn’t forgotten that. I cannot expect that you would either.”

“You said she hasn’t forgotten, Konstantin.” she said. “That’s in the present tense. When did you last speak to Villanelle?”

Eve’s stare was malevolent. There was no patience remaining in her eyes. The last time Konstantin had seen that look was in the eyes of Villanelle herself after a particularly brutal kill. Somewhere between ecstasy and enlightenment.

He had not liked that look then. He liked it even less now.

“I asked you a question, Konstantin.”

“Maybe a month ago.”

“Does she know I’m alive?”

“She suspects you are, but she does not know.” he sighed and waved a hand. “She was still angry at you. She is angrier with herself.”

“Good,” Eve said with a smirk. “She should be.”

Konstantin looked into Eve’s dark eyes, saw nothing familiar, moved on.

“Where is she?”

He settled his bulk back into the leather chair. Eve approached and stood in front of him. He avoided eye contact and mumbled, “With Carolyn’s present situation, all of her old cases and collaborators are being called out of hiding to answer questions about her and her methods”

“Well, I hope they have a lot of free time and recording tape, because all the shit you and her got into could fill several volumes of reports,” Eve as she crossed her arms.

Then Eve leaned forward and grabbed Konstantin by the scruff of his beard. She brought her face close to his and repeated.

“Where. Is. She?”

“This is a very nice apartment you are living in, Eve,” Konstantin said quietly. “May I presume we are being recorded?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a nice apartment, but MI6 is footing the bill for it, so you can presume to your little heart’s content and you’d be right. If there’s a fly buzzing around a window they know it.”

“Did you know how much Villanelle would talk about your hair?”

“What?” Eve replied. “What are you talking about?”

“Let me smell your hair for a minute.”

Eve leaned forward and the old man reached up to caress her dark curls. He buried his nose and face in the cascade of sweaty hair and whispered into her right ear.

She smiled. Then straightened up. “I see.”

“You do have amazing hair, Eve.” he said then grunted as he pushed himself up out of the chair. “You could use a shower though.”

Eve threw her head back and laughed and Konstantin joined her.

“I have to go now,” he said as Gossett and another agent appeared in the room. “I do not think I will see you again, Eve.”

“Yeah. Seems unlikely,” she shrugged. “I appreciate you stopping by on your way to MI6. Do I want to ask how that just happened to occur today?”

Konstantin grinned, but said nothing and then he spread his arms wide. Eve stepped toward him and threw her arms around him.

“I don’t know whether I should hug you or hit you, you old Russian bear.”

He squeezed her and then placed his thick hands on her slim shoulders. “I think you should do exactly whatever you want to do for a change, Eve.” He seemed sad and tired.

“I will.” she said and she wrapped her arms around his waist tighter squeezing a grunt of air out of him. .

“Good! Very good,” he chuckled and gave her a light peck on the cheek. “Be good, Eve.”

“Probably not.”

Konstantin laughed again and walked away with a wave. “Dasvidaniya.”

Eve threw him a wave and as the door closed behind her began to unwrap her bathrobe and headed off for a long shower and shampoo.

It was going to be a big and busy day.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If he had any choice in the matter, Kenny Stowton would have preferred not to work for his mother.

He didn’t like the rules and regulations. He didn’t like the scrutiny. He didn’t like the money. He could have made more money in a few weeks than he made all year if he was working as a hacker or as a security consultant for some corporation.

Mostly though Kenny didn’t like that nobody could know how good he was at his job. His hacker game was strong, but he couldn’t go by a cool nickname. He had to keep incognito. Fly under the radar. Do nothing that would call attention to himself or reflect negatively on Carolyn.

Kenny wasn’t a lawbreaker. He just got tired of jumping through hoops being held up by his mum. He hadn’t had anything to do with Mason’s stupid attempt at killing Eve, but when MI6 invaded their house, it was Kenny’s computers and servers which ended up being confiscated and carted away for examination.

All he had left was his personal laptop. And a very important USB drive he kept on him at all times. “Hide in plain sight” was what mum had told him and so nobody was the wiser.

He had spent the better part of the day at a mate’s home playing video games and watching superhero movies. His buddy was a Marvel zombie, but he preferred Batman and Superman. They were more his speed. Heroic. Square jawed. Straight shooters. Just like him.

And probably virgins.

Lost in his own thoughts Kenny didn’t notice the man and woman walking ahead of him had slowed down considerably. Didn’t notice the man walking behind him stepping up his pace and closing the gap between them. Definitely paid no attention to the plain white van that was slowly cruising toward him.

Until the couple turned around and faced him with guns drawn and ID cards held high and said, “Kenneth Snowton?”

Kenny looked up and his mouth dropped open. “Wh-what’s this about?”

Another gun poked into the small of his back and a voice growled into his ear, “Don’t move, Kenneth.” The woman snatched Kenny’s laptop away as the man behind him pinned his arms to his side. The other half of the couple grabbed his backpack.

“Are you armed, Kenneth?” The gunman breathed into his ear.

“No! I don’t carry a gun. I don’t even like guns,” Kenny babbled.

“That’s good, Kenneth,” the gunman nodded. “Now turn and face the street.” The white van came to a halt and the side door slid back. “Get him in here!” a voice commanded.

Kenny half -walked/half-stumbled into the van. The door slammed shut and the van took off. The three other agents jumped in a second car being driven by a fourth and followed closely behind the van.

Kenny was blindfolded and his hands restrained behind his back with a plastic twist tie. His eyes were wet with tears.

A rough hand fell on his shoulder. “Settle down, boy. You’ll be fine.”

Kenny did not feel reassured.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wow. She’s really got a pair on her.”

“Yes, she certainly does,” Brock sighed. “The bloody cheek of that damned woman.”

Eve couldn’t help but try to repress her admiration for Carolyn. She hated her, but to her eternal credit, there was no way to avoid feeling some grudging admiration for how masterfully she knew how to play the system against itself.

Brock was sitting in a worn leather chair and fussing as he tried to flip through the pages of the injunction Carolyn’s barristers had filed against MI6 and the British government demanding they allow her immediate return to work. Carolyn was arguing that matters of national security were at risk while she was being unjustly confined and unable to do her job.

It was a dick move and not likely that a court would side against MI6, but it put the Mason rampage back in the news cycle and made people who didn’t like answering questions being asked uncomfortable ones.

“Absolutely bleedin’ brilliant,” Brock said. He grimaced a bit as he tried to find a comfortable position that didn’t send spasms of pain surging through his surgically-repaired shoulder. He was off his pain medications for this because he knew he had to be stone cold sober and wracked in excruciating agony to make sure Eve didn’t cock this up.

Eve almost felt sorry for the old man. Then she pondered how much Brock would have felt sorry for her had she gone through that door first and decided she would stop at “almost.”

“This changes nothing, Brock.”

“I’m not sure, Miss Park,” Brock said. “If Carolyn is allowed to return to work, she will find a way to contact The Twelve or to slip the leash entirely and simply vanish. Or not vanish and go back to her scurrilous ways.”

Eve glared at him with eyes blazing with rage, “No. She doesn’t get to do that. Carolyn does not get to win this time.”

Brock did not look up at Eve’s angry face. Instead he simply replied, “Then I guess this had better work, eh?”

Eve nodded in agreement, then turned and walked out of Brock’s suite and back to her own.

_Time to get ready. Lots to do._

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If they didn’t stop driving around in loops and speeding up and slowing down and turning left and right and backing up and all the other stupid tricks they were employing to throw him off, Kenny mused he was only 30 seconds away from losing his breakfast and lunch all over the van.

“Ye okay there, lad?” a man’s voice shouted.

“Where are we going?” Kenny shouted back.

The man didn’t respond beyond a wordless grunt, and fell silent. Kenny figured it might be best if he didn’t press the issue.

The van make a sharp left turn and though buckled in, he was still handcuffed and had no way to stop his momentum and Kenny smacked the side of his head into the grunting man’s shoulder.

“Oof! Sorry!” Kenny apologized. The grunting man grunted in reply. There was a screech from the brakes being applied as the van slowly slid into a handicapped parking spot. The female agent who was driving hung a handicap tag from the window and the male agent who had been accompanying her, hopped out and slid the side panel open.

“We’re here. Let’s go.”

Blindfolded and handcuffed, the three agents grabbed Kenny’s arms and legs and carried him into Room #115. As soon as they entered, they dropped Kenny unceremoniously into a chair.

“Hold out your wrists,” a male voice commanded. It wasn’t the same as the other agents. The voice sounded older and more sophisticated. “Uncuff him.”

“Yes sir,” a deeper voice replied. Kenny strained to see through his black blindfold, but only inky darkness greeted his eyes. A key was inserted, turned and the handcuffs were removed from Kenny’s wrists. He rubbed them to return the circulation to his numb fingers.

“Take off your blindfold, Kenneth,” the older voice said.

Kenny’s hands were shaking as he reached up and untied the blindfold. His mouth was as dry as if he had been chewing on cotton balls, and he was feeling lightheaded and nauseated. Though he could now open his eyes, they remained clamped shut.

“What the fuck are you doing, Kenneth?” the older voice said with a sigh. “I told you to take off the blindfold. The natural response by most normal people is to open their eyes.”

“I’m afraid to look,” Kenny said. “I don’t want to know what you look like or who you are. I just want to get out of here.”

The older voice didn’t respond for a moment, then Kenny felt the warm breath of the man right next to his left ear as he spoke clearly and distinctly in a kind and soothing manner.

“If you don’t open your fucking eyes right now and stop all this stupid shite, I am going to have two very big and strong men take you in the bathroom, strip you naked and instruct them to beat the snot out of you for the next hour.”

Kenny’s eyes snapped to attention.

Mr. Brock was crouching at eye level staring at Kenny. His face was impassive. Then he spoke, “Do you know who I am?”

Kenny nodded. Brock leaned in until their noses almost touched.

“THEN WHAT IS MY NAME, BOY?”

“Brock” Kenny whispered as the shaking of his hands became more pronounced, “Your name is Mr. Brock.”

“Good. That’s very good, Kenneth,” Brock said with a slight smile. “We’re off to a good start then! Very good.”

Kenny didn’t feel like anything was good. In fact, they were kind of lousy.

Brock stood up and gestured. Two agents appeared behind him and pulled a high-back dining room chair up as Brock slowly settled in it. Two more agents stood behind Kenny and pushed him down. Brock grimaced. It was past time for his pain meds and his shoulder was screaming at him for relief, but he couldn’t indulge his body if he wanted to keep his mind sharp.

“Kenneth, I won’t waste my time trying to sweet talk you, so I’m going to talk to you man-to-man about why we’re having this conversation tonight. I am going to explain what I want from you and why it is in your best interest to give it to me.”

“Okay,” Kenny said. “But I don’t really know much about the operational stuff.”

“Who said this has anything to do with ‘operational stuff’, Kenneth?” Brock shot back.

“Uh--um...well, I don’t really know why you stopped me, Mr. Brock.”

Brock gestured again and an agent handed him a folder and he said, “Lots of reasons, Kenneth, and all of them have to do with your mother, Carolyn Martens, and her decades-long rogue operation she runs within MI6 and you helped her do it.”

Kenny stared down at the floor and balled his fists as the agents flanking him pushed down on his shoulders.

“Sit back and relax, Kenneth. We’re going to have a nice talk. First, I’m going to talk and then I’m going to listen to you talking about all this evil shit you and your mummy have been into.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Five hours later, as she waited in Room #115, Eve could hear Kenny protesting he didn’t know anything about anything and Brock kept ripping his excuses to shreds. He was good at what he did and never asked a question he didn’t already have the answer to.

That wouldn’t be enough to break Kenny. She would have to.

Eve leaned forward in the chair she was sitting in. Across from her, there was a familiar face and it filled her cold, dying heart, with heat and light and loneliness.

“Hello, Villanelle.”

“Good evening, Eve. My, but this is a different look for you. I see you are finally wearing some of the clothes I bought you,” Villanelle replied as she crossed her legs. She was wearing a leather jacket, a white t-shirt, Doc Martens, and distressed jeans. “It certainly took you long enough, but it was well worth the wait.” She laughed softly and it sounded like sweet music to Eve’s ears.

“It’s for a special occasion, so I figured I should dress the part.” Eve said.

“You look ravishing, darling,” Villanelle said running her tongue across her milky white teeth. A warm wave washed over Eve’s spine and she felt breathless.

“But I do not think you need to overdress for this particular occasion,” the apparition said with a sad shake of her head. “For what you are about to do all you need is leather, latex and a cat o’ nine tails. Some spiked boots might be appropriate too. What size do you wear?”

Eve frowned. “If you know what I am about to do, then you know I don’t want to do it, but it’s the only way I can get out of all this shit and find you.”

“Don’t,” the Villanelle which was not Villanelle said.

A surprised look passed over Eve’s face, “Don’t? Don’t what?”

“Don’t come looking for me, Eve. I do not want to ever see you again. That is why I shot you. I am tired of you and your lies.”

“Lies? Eve parroted. “What lies, Villanelle? When have I lied to you?”

“In Paris. In my flat.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

The Villanelle that was not Villanelle didn’t bother to conceal her fury.

“Eve, you can lie to yourself. You’ve been lying to yourself for years. Lied about who you really are and what you really want to be. You lied that you loved the mustache man and you lied to your colleagues that you were only doing your job when you pursued me across Europe, but you cannot lie to me anymore.”

Something wet began to rise in Eve’s dark brown eyes, but something angry was stomping the tears down.

“That’s not true! I know what I want now. I didn’t know it in Rome, but I know now. I want you Villanelle. I realize that I had to change to deserve you, but I have!” she pleaded. “Once I find you I’ll prove it.”

The loud laugh of the Russian assassin resonated in the head of the former MI6 agent.

“You will never have a chance to lie to me again, Eve. Once in Paris was bad enough, but when you did it again in Rome, that was worse. Much worse.”

Eve’s mouth hung open for a second. Then she stuttered, “V...Villanelle, now listen to me…”

“I listened to you in Paris. I listened when you lied to me. Right before you stabbed me,” the vision whispered. “You put me off my guard with your sweet deceit.”

_I think about you all the time._  
_I think about what you're wearing and what you're doing and who you're doing it with._  
_I think about what friends you have._  
_I think about what you eat before you work and what shampoo you use and what happened in your family._  
_I think about your eyes and your mouth and what you feel when you kill someone._  
_I think about what you have for breakfast._  
_I just want to know everything._

“That’s what you said. You wanted to know me. You wanted to be with me. Then you did exactly the opposite. Because you are selfish, Eve. You are cruel. Crueler than I have ever been.”

Eve’s buried her face in her hands.

“That was all true Villanelle,” she said hoarsely. “I meant every word of it. I betrayed my husband, my best friend, my family, my employer and even my country. I betrayed them all because I couldn’t get you out of my head. I couldn’t shake you no matter how much I tried.”

The doppelganger said nothing, but stared coldly at Eve.

“Well, I’m not trying anymore. So I’m not going to stop. I need you. I don’t want to need you, but I do. I really do,” she cried out. “I’m not going to go back to who I was. I won’t.”

“If you do this thing you are planning to do, Eve, Villanelle said, “There will be nothing left to go back to.”

Eve stood up and walked over to the ghostly visage she had surrendered everything to pursue.

“I know that. But it’s already gone and I don’t care.” There was steel in her voice. “Let it all burn. I’ll build the new on the ashes of the old.”

Villanelle snorted and stood up, “I can see there is no changing your mind. Perhaps that is a good thing. You following your own lead instead of Carolyn’s or Nico’s.”

“Or yours, Villanelle.” she shot back. “I won’t allow you to control me either, and that loss of control scares you. That’s why you’re trying to run from me.”

“Then come find me, Eve. It won’t be hard. Just follow the dead bodies.”

“It’s a date,” Eve replied. “See you sooner than later, Villanelle.”

There was no reply. There was no one else in the room to provide a reply. There never had been.

Eve sighed deeply. She turned to hear her phone buzzing on the dresser. She picked it up and checked the text.

“IT’S TIME.”

Eve tossed the phone back on the dresser and gazed at her reflection. She reached for the bottle of La Villanelle. Slowly unscrewed its ornate top and deeply inhaled the intoxicating fragrance.

 _It smells like her_.

Eve gave a light spritz to her wrists, raised them to her neck and chest and transferred the scent to her body. She inhaled deeply a second time and smiled.

_Now I smell like her too._

Eve walked out of the room and nodded at Sanchez standing guard outside the door. The bodyguard took a long look at her unusually stylish charge. “Wow. You look like a million dollars--er---pounds.”

“Thanks,” Eve said. “I dress to impress.” Sanchez looked puzzled.

“Were you talking to someone on the phone?” Sanchez asked. “It sounded like you were having a pretty lively conversation in there.”

Eve smiled vaguely and replied, “No. Actually I was saying ‘goodbye’ to an old friend. I won’t be seeing her anymore and I felt she deserved a decent send-off.”

Sanchez nodded and fell in step with Eve, “I can get with that. You can be best buddies with someone, but we all outgrow people and have to move on for both of your sakes.”

A beat passed and then another before Eve responded in an unnervingly deep voice she didn’t know she possessed.

“Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes you have to kill them to get rid of them.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

30 minutes earlier.

Brock was tired. He was tired of this boy’s innocent act. He was tired of his hairless little boy face. He was tired of his misstatements, half-truths and complete deceptions. All he had learned was everything he already knew.

Of course he had found Kenny’s USB key. Kenny had confirmed that he had helped Carolyn run several off-the-books operations. He had not confirmed if The Twelve had turned Carolyn into their mole within MI6 or if she was part of the surreptitious shadow organization that trafficked in murder and mayhem for reasons yet unrevealed.

“Mr. Brock?” Hathaway said. Brock snapped out of his reverie.

“Is everything in place, Mr. Hathaway?” he said.

Hathaway assured his boss everything was indeed in place. There was a one-way mirror set up in the bedroom of Room 115, tiny cameras and mics were mounted and recording everything. There would be three observers to whatever came next. Brock, Hathaway and a nervous technician monitoring the equipment.

He didn’t want to do this. He still felt soiled and contaminated by stooping so low, but his gut feeling was this might be his last, best chance of taking down Martens and exposing her as the phony patriot she truly was. The Director had given Brock a green light to go after Carolyn and he didn’t care how she was toppled from her perch, only that it would be a long fall and a hard landing.

“Are you sure Snowton has ingested the pills. All 25 milligrams?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Brock,” Hathaway grinned. “Snowton’s flying high like a horny eagle after the dose of Viagra we dissolved in his drink. Everything that happens we will see. Everything that is said we will hear.”

“Fine, fine, Mr. Hathaway,” Brock said wearily. “If the suspect is ready, let’s get on with it. Dim the lights and start the music if you would,”

“Very good, sir.” Hathaway snapped his fingers and the other agents left the room to take up positions outside of the motor lodge, “Move it, you lot. You have your assignments. Do not break cover until you are told otherwise.”

Brock glared at the set-up of screens and laptops the tech had assembled in the center of the room.

“Send in the asset.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: ALL THE LOVE IN THE UNIVERSE TO THE EMMY WINNING JODIE COMER, NOW AND FOREVER. There is nothing but love, trust and support between Jodie and Sandra Oh, and anybody who doubts that they sisters who cheer and celebrate with each other is frankly nobody I want any parts of it. Take your negativity somewhere else. These two woman got each other's back and I will not hear any noise to the contrary. 
> 
> Second thing next: Thanks and major proper respect to my sista from another mista, **vforvillanelle** for her suggestions, insights and sage advice. This chapter might not have seen the light of day if she hadn't suggested not making a particular wrong turn. 
> 
> Last things last: Reunions between Eve and two of the men in her life. 
> 
> They aren't all happy ones.


	9. The Ninth Taste of Sin: Sex As A Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With every minute of every day that slips away, Eve Polastri is changing.
> 
> Not necessarily for the better. 
> 
> She's got further down the rabbit hole to go. Can she recognize when she has gone too far even for her?

As far as honeymoon suites go, Kenny could have done worse. 

The room was outfitted with a king-sized bed with pillows piled around the metal headboard. Music was being piped in from the speakers set up high near the ceiling. There were several scented candles that filled the room with a spicy jasmine aroma. 

Outside of video games, he wasn’t much of a music fan so he didn’t recognize Florence & the Machine’s “The Girl With One Eye:”

_ She told me not to step on the cracks _

_ I told her not to fuss and relax _

_ Pretty little face stopped me in my tracks _

_ But now she sleeps with one eye open _

_ But that's the price she'll pay _

_ I took a knife and cut out her eye _

_ I took it home and watched it wither and die _

_ Well, she's lucky that I didn't slip her a smile _

_ That's why she sleeps with one eye open _

_ But that's the price she'll pay _

_ I said, hey, girl with one eye _

_ Get your filthy fingers out of my pie _

_ I said, hey, girl with one eye _

_ I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry _

Kenny didn’t much care for the song. He cared even less that he was now handcuffed to the chair. He tried to flex his arms and legs, but he was bothered by a nagging headache. That made no sense. He never got headaches, even when he’d been up all night writing code, pounding energy drinks or playing Fortnight. 

It helped drown out the sounds coming from his mother’s bedroom whenever Konstantin or one of her male or female “friends” came for a visit and stayed overnight. 

He felt uncomfortable, but in the pit of his stomach he felt the stirring of a warmth. A familiar one he usually took care typing and scrolling with one hand and taking matters into his own hand with the other. 

If only Elena hadn’t left, Kenny thought. Maybe she would have gone with him to see  _ Avengers: Endgame _ with him instead of going by himself. But when he had returned from Russia after mum had fired Eve and instructed him to go home when returned to the office, Elena was gone. She hadn’t even spoken to him since leaving MI6 and disappearing with the bowels of the intelligence currency and the innocuous life of just another office drone. 

Just because he hadn’t actually had--sex, with a real woman didn’t mean he wasn’t curious about them.

Florence kept singing.

_ I slipped my hand under her skirt _

_ I said don't worry, it's not gonna hurt _

_ Oh, my reputation's kinda clouded with dirt _

_ That's why you sleep with one eye open _

_ But that's the price you pay _

_ I said, hey, girl with one eye _

_ Get your filthy fingers out of my pie _

_ I said, hey, girl with one eye _

_ I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry _

_ You made me cry _

_ You made me cry _

_ You made me cry _

_ I said, hey, girl with one eye _

_ Get your filthy fingers out of my pie _

_ I said, girl with one eye _

_ Get your filthy fingers out of my pie _

_ I said, hey, girl with one eye _

_ Get your filthy fingers out of my pie _

_ I said, hey, girl with one eye _

_ I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry _

The song ended and Beyonce’s “Naughty Girl, kicked in with plenty of pumping bass. It was loud, but not so loud Kenny couldn’t hear the soft rapping on the bedroom door.

“Hullo?” 

The door opened a crack and he could see the red, sparkling nail polish on a woman’s right hand slowly pushing the door open.

“Hi, Kenny.” the voice was a low purr as the speaker volume decreased.

Kenny’s eyes went wide. “Eve? Why are you here? What are you doing?”

He looked at the woman who stood in the doorway allowing him to take in the vast amount of information and stimuli that was suffocating his brain. 

“What are you wearing?

Eve smiled and winked, “Isn’t it obvious, Kenny?” I’m here for you.”   
  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air stilled. Kenny couldn’t breathe. Every sense was tingling. Sight. Sound. Smell. Taste. Touch. Every synapse was firing. Every bit of blood and testosterone and endorphins were surging through his veins to gather and pool and grow within his groin.

The surge of warmth and the swelling and tightening in his loins creeped up into Kenny’s stomach. He had to be high or something. Nothing else could explain this. 

From head to toe and all places in between the woman he knew as Eve Polastri had changed, grown, morphed, transformed, positively shapeshifted into the most sensual and stimulating woman he had ever seen in his 20-something years of life. 

_ She was a vision. No. She was so much more than that. She was a goddess. An absolute goddamned goddess. _

Draped in finery from Alexander McQueen and paid for in the blood money of one Okasana Astankova. a.k.a The Assassin Known As Villanelle, stood a 5’8” Asian woman with amazing hair and an outfit to match. 

The dress was an off-the-shoulder bustier dress in black double duchesse featuring a sweetheart neckline and an asymmetrical draped skirt, finished with a concealed zip fastening on the back. Around her neck she wore a silver-finished pave tubular choker detailed with round Swarovski crystal pave and silver finished brass earrings featuring a double chain pendant with Swarovski-adorned skulls dangling from her ears. 

On her right wrist Eve wore a pale gold-finished chain bracelet with an engraved Alexander McQueen signature metal plate adorned with a Swarovski embellished skull and on the left a bi-Colour cuff In antique gold and silver plating, featuring cut Swarovski crystal, English Rose and snake engravings and finished with an Alexander McQueen signature. 

It was impossible to miss the queen skull ring embellished with Swarovski crystals and faux pearls on her right index finger and the black calfskin leather sandal with a silver brass buckle fastening with a heel of 10.5cm

The finishing stroke was Eve was wrapped up in a leather peplum jacket. Just shy of $13,000K Eve Park was a goddamned vision. A raw fantasy. A wet dream. 

But not Kenneth Stowton’s. Quite the opposite. She was his worst nightmare in the flesh.

“Eve, please help me,” Kenny pleaded. “These agents keep asking me about my mum and The Twelve.”

“Well, maybe you should tell them what they want to know, Kenny,” Eve said as she clutched the leather jacket around her bare shoulders. “The sooner you do the sooner you and I can have some fun.” 

“Fun? What are you talking about Eve? You’re my friend. They’ll believe you!”

“Awww, Kenny, she pouted. “We’re more than friends. I know I want to be more than a friend to you.” She shook the jacket off and stood there her shoulders bare. Eve smiled and slowly advanced toward the young hacker. 

When was only a few feet away, she dropped to her knees and crawled the rest of the way to Kenny never breaking eye contact as dark cascades of curls fell across her lovely face., 

The scented candles were now the primary source of illumination in the room as Eve stood up bent at the waist and cupped her hands under her breasts. 

Eve smiled at Kenny. The shackled young man felt a familiar stirring in his jeans-clad loins. 

Her look was feral. Predatory. There was no sweetness in her smile. Only lust. But not for the struggling man-boy bound and helpless before her. 

Eve saw Kenny, but she fantasized Villanelle. She craved Villanelle. She ached for Villanelle. 

But since Villanelle wasn’t there and Kenny was, she’d just have to make the best of the situation and ravish  _ him _ instead of the Russian assassin. 

“Do you like me, Kenny?” 

Eve’s body swayed to the beat. Eyes closed, her mouth opened and small tiny moans escaped through her lips. Her hands traveled slowly up and down her sleek body. Through the sound of the music and the musky aroma of the candles, she was giving herself over to the fantasy. The fantasy that it was Villanelle bound to the chair and a helpless witness to whatever Eve wished to do to her.

Turning her back to Kenny, she dragged her hands down her ass and gyrated her body, then she looked over her shoulder and made eye-contact with Kenny. He didn’t look turned-on. 

He looked terrified.

_ Guess I’ll have to try harder _ .

Eve backed into Kenny’s lap and draped her right leg over his. She flung her arm around his shoulder and caressed the taut nerves of his neck. “ _ Uh..uh...uh _ …” was all Kenny could gasp out. 

She yanked his head down and said, “Don’t you like me, Kenny? I like you. Let me show you” 

Then Eve kissed him roughly on the mouth. Kenny recoiled as if he had been slapped. 

“EVE! STOP!” 

She giggled. “But baby, I’m just getting started. I’ve got all kinds of ideas of what kind of fun we can have.”

Eve hopped off Kenny’s lap, turned to face him and placed her hands on his shoulders. 

“You ready?” she breathed heavily. “Because I’m ready to fuck your brains out.”

Kenny’s eyes widened and he whispered in a soft low voice, “...No. Please don’t.”

Eve sat on Kenny’s lap and slathered kisses all over his neck and cheeks. She thrust her groin into Kenny’s, and grunted, “Oh yeah. That’s what I was looking for. That’s what I want.”

He began to wail like a trapped wolf. 

“Are you scared, Kenny?” she smirked. “What are you scared of Kenny? Is it  _ this _ ?”

She clamped her hand around Kenny’s balls and squeezed hard. Eve ran her hand over the bulge that was straining to be released. 

“ _ Awww….uh-uh-uhhhhh _ …” he muttered. His breathing became shallow and he became lightheaded as it seemed ever liter of blood was rushing to his engorged penis and testicles. 

Eve felt a shiver of delight run through her. How easy this was. She was intoxicated on how she could make this man turn into a child with just her mouth, her tongue, her hands and her legs. 

The only thing she needed to do now was lower the zipper and he would hers for the taking. Hers for the breaking. 

_ But it wasn’t Villanelle _ . 

Eve froze in place. Behind the mirror, Brock and Hathaway sat flanking the technician, saying little but observing and recording everything. Hathaway coughed softly into his hand. The tech kept his eyes fixed on his cameras and recording devices fiddling with the sound levels. Brock’s face was a mask of stone as he clenched his teeth to deny any outward sign of the searing agony of his ruined shoulder. 

That, and he thought he might be sick to his stomach. 

“Sir, do you think we should stop this?” Hathaway muttered softly. 

“Not yet,” Brock mumbled in response. “Give her a minute. Let’s see how this plays out. We’ll step in if it goes too far.”

“You don’t think it’s gone too far already, sir?” 

This line of inquiry was more than a bit cheeky coming from Hathaway, Brock thought and when Eve had explained it to him, he wasn’t any happier then than Hathaway was now. But he had a job to do, so little time to get it done, and being squeamish about unpleasant acts of unsavory behavior wasn’t going to get in the way of doing it. 

“Are you familiar with the term ‘honey trap’, Mr. Hathaway? No? Well, you should take time to familiarize yourself with its meaning. That is, if you ever have any hopes of taking this job once I let it go.” 

Hathaway’s ears and cheeks flushed red as he, “Yessir, Mr. Brock.”

Kenny’s eyes were shut tight as his shoulders slumped as if surrendering to the inevitability that this was going to happen and his body was betraying his fear in search of sweet release.

Gazing down on the youth, Eve inhaled deeply. She was ready to take Kenny. To ravish him. To bend him to her will and show him there were things in this dirty world to be feared far more than he feared his mother. 

She would break him into pieces and then scatter them to the wind. He was merely meat and meat was to be consumed. Her hunger was voracious and she was ready to eat her fill. 

Her hand reached for the zipper, grasped it and began to slowly pull it down. Five words passed through her mind. 

_ Why am I doing this? _

To get to Villanelle? This wasn’t going to get her any closer to Villanelle. IF she did this, what would she accomplish? Maybe the son would be so broken his fear of Eve would supplant his fear of Carolyn, but then what? What if it didn’t? What if all she accomplished was make Kenny hate her more than Carolyn?

Eve’s hand faltered and shook. The trembling of Kenny’s body was matched by her hands and she couldn’t stop it. 

_ I think I’m losing my mind just a little bit.  _

_ Or maybe I already have completely lost it. _

_ She worked the list. She had cheated on her husband. She had lied. She had cheated. She had betrayed. She had manipulated others to get what she wanted. She had stabbed a woman. She had turned the skull and brains of two men into mush with an axe and a gun. _   


Now she was going to rape a virgin because he was weak and timid and stupid enough to have considered her a friend. The poor dumb bastard. What kind of fool trusts someone like her? He deserved to be fucked over for being so annoyingly dumb.

Maybe there was another way to do this. Maybe she didn’t have to cross yet another line she wasn’t as ready to cross as she thought she was.

_ Maybe I don’t have to lose myself completely to find out who I am. I can’t be like Villanelle and I shouldn’t try to. _

Killing Raymond had meant nothing. Killing Mason had meant nothing. But while she didn’t feel bad about their deaths, she experienced no joy either. She had gotten no thrill from splitting their skulls open with axes and bullets. They were thugs for The Twelve and/or MI6, but if they had stayed out of her way she would have stayed out of theirs. 

Raymond had tried to strangle Villanelle and if he could kill her, she would surely be next. It was Carolyn’s desperate bid to silence her two worst tormentors before they could take her down that forced her to sic Mason on her, but that was self-defense as well.

Kill or be killed, was how Eve looked at it and she wasn’t going to go out quietly. Not anymore. She didn’t need Villanelle to protect and save her life. She was taking that power away from her and back for herself. 

Why, she could hardly be considered a murderer if she had only killed to save her own life. It was Villanelle who got off on killing. Not her. The ideal of killing no longer unnerved her as it once had. However, unlike Villanelle, she didn’t need to kill. 

She just liked it. Sometimes. When it wasn’t messy. Okay, both of them were messy, but Mason wasn’t as bad as how Raymond got it, so that’ had to count for something. 

But this…. _ this _ she couldn’t justify. She didn’t want to. Eve was going to fuck Kenny if he was nice and rape him if he was naughty. As vicious and aroused as she was she hoped it would be the latter, not the former.

_ Maybe she would slap him around a bit. Bite his neck and draw some blood. Grab his scrotum and yank his balls. Suck on his nipples until they were raw and tender. Call him a weak litte mama’s boy who was scared of pussy. Laugh in his face, then spit in it. Make him beg her for it and then give it to him, hard and mean and brutal. With no compassion. With no pleasure.  _

_ But oh, so much pain _ . 

That would please her so much. She would inflict the agony of Kenny’s body as a surrogate for the body of the absent Villanelle. Then Eve would be liberated to even the score with the succubus who had driven her to near madness. 

She didn’t know if she wanted to fuck or kill Villanelle. Maybe both in no particular order. 

She was far miles away from the Eve who had met the computer genius in a smelly office along with Bill and Elena. They had all been the lab rats to be studied in the mad experiments of Dr. Martens.

Eve had come pretty far since that Saturday morning meeting when Carolyn Martens and a mysterious female assassin had entered her reality and warped it beyond recognition. She could no more go back to that life than she could stop the sun from rising tomorrow. 

She wasn’t so far gone she was going to humiliate and violate maybe the only friend she had left in the whole damn world.

“Kenny?” 

No response. Just a feeble moan. Jesus, he was burning up. She could almost feel the heat coming off of him. His erection was searching for a release from his shorts. 

“Kenny, please.” she said softly. “Please look at me.”

“No. No...I can’t. I won’t!” he replied with a violent shake of his head. “I don’t want to look. I can’t!”

_ Weakling. She should just take him anyway. Fuck the shit out of the pathetic little faggot and show him what a real woman feels like instead of just jacking off to them on the Internet. _

Eve whipped her head around as if she had heard a own voice coming from behind her. She recognized the voice. It was hers, but the roiling anger, the seething contempt in that voice---where was  _ that _ coming from?    
  
“This is not who I am. This isn’t who I want to be.

_ Liar. You fucking filthy little liar. This  _ **_is_ ** _ you. It’s  _ **_always_ ** _ been you! You were just afraid to let me out. You can blame Villanelle if you want, but you know this is who you are. This is why you want to kill and this is why you’re going to fuck this little worm.  _

“Kenny! I need you to look at me. I am not going to hurt you,” she said leaning in and whispering directly in his ear. “I promise. So help me God.”

_ God? When did you start believing in God? Oh, Eve. You are so disappointing. Calling on a God you don’t believe in. Don’t be pathetic. _

The voice turned into a spot-on imitation of Villanelle’s Russian accent. Eve shook her head violently and grabbed Kenny’s by the shoulders. 

“Please. Oh, please, Kenny!.” Eve pleaded. “Look at me. I’m begging you. I need your help.”

His body began to stop shaking and his breathing slowed. He gradually raised his eyelids halfway the pupils dilated and his eyes rimmed red from tears. Eve released her grip and pushed herself upright and away from his trembling body. 

“Just breathe, Kenny.” 

His eyes opened and he gazed up at her face and her wild mane of curls. She pulled her dress down over her hips and backed away a few steps. 

“Eve.” he said. “What has happened to you?” He no longer looked scared witless. She could see the light coming back on behind his blue eyes.

“She--she seduced me,” Eve said. 

_ You lying bitch. Now you’re using the same bullshit excuses as Anna? Wasn’t Anna so much older and presumably wiser than Oksana when they connected? How are you any better? You are such a liar, but you can’t lie to me _ . 

“So much has happened to me, Kenny,” she said smiling and crouched down to his eye level. “Too much has happened, but I’m not going to hurt you. I can’t hurt you and I won’t.”

“You promise?” he said skeptically. The once-pronounced bulge in his jeans had dwindled away. So had that evil and stupid voice in her head. But it wasn’t gone, just slinking back into the depths it had emerged from. 

“I promise, Kenny.” Eve said. “But I do need your help and you’re the only one who can. Your mother tried to kill me. Brock has her elimination order from Mason’s phone, but it’s not enough to take Carolyn down. She’ll worm her way out of it and then she’ll make certain to tidy up her affairs with me. You know this is true!” 

Something resembling a shaky and crooked little smile crept over his face. “Yeah, I do Eve, and I’m sorry for what happened to you in Rome. I wanted to tell you everything, but my mum wouldn’t allow it. She told me whatever you and Villanelle got yourselves into, you would have to get yourselves out of”

“Yeah. She pretty much told me the same thing after the clean-up team cleared out the hotel room and Hugo---oh, Lord. What happened to Hugo?” 

Kenny shrugged, “He was in pretty bad shape for a while, but he’s mostly recovered now. He said you left him to die, Eve. Is that true?”

She bit her lip and turned away. She had no answer for anything she had done in Rome. All her soul-searching hadn’t provided her with any satisfactory reasons for what had happened. She blamed it on shock after killing Raymond, but Eve knew the truth was she had given in totally to her obsession with Villanelle and had shut out everything else that stood between them.

That was still the case, but she couldn’t tell Kenny that.

“Okay.” he said looking away from her. “I kind of knew it already and you just confirmed it.” 

“Kenny, I’m not a good person,” she said. “In fact, I’m pretty fucked up. I don’t know if there’s any space between Oksana’s behavior and my own except she’s murdered a lot more people than I have. But I need you to tell me  _ everything _ about what Carolyn has done with The Twelve. She had Mason try to kill me and she is not going to stop trying as long as I’m a threat to them. So I’m begging you, Kenny. You have to help me because if you don’t I’ll be dead in a matter of days or hours.” 

He looked blankly at Eve and then his head dropped staring at the floor. Eve could see he was struggling to come to a decision. She had to drag him across the line between his friendship with her and his dog-like loyalty to a mother unworthy of the term.  


“Kenny, you know your mother is not loyal to England. You know she has had people killed for crossing her. You know she manipulates anyone who may be of usage to her and then discards them like trash.”

He continued to look away from Eve. She approached him and gently laid her hand on his shoulder. 

“Your mother was once the best among the best. She smashed spy rings and protected state secrets. She turned enemies into allies and protected allies from enemies. Carolyn was a legend in MI6 and Elena and I would talk about how much of a bad ass, your mom was. No lie.”

The mention of Elena's name sparked something in Kenny as he looked up at Eve and sniffled, “You did? You and Elena talked about my mum like that?”

“Yes, dear,” Eve said and patted him on the shoulder. “Carolyn was an inspiration to every MI6 agent. She showed us how to do the job and do it right for queen and country.” She felt a little disgusted with the little white lie, but far less disgusted had she gone through with her initial plan.

He nodded affirmatively.

“But something happened and Carolyn stopped being that inspiration,” Eve said sadly. “I don’t know if it was Konstantin or one of her other ‘friends’ she had made over the years that turned her, but your mother is now working for the other side and betraying the nation and the principles it stands for. You can save me and her legacy, Kenny!” He was still hesitating and she would have to drag him across the finish line. 

“Kenny?”

“Yeah?”

“Does your mother love you?”

“WHAT? What the hell kind of question is that? Of course she loves me!”

“How do you know that?”

“Now, you wait a minute, Eve…”

“Has Carolyn ever **told** you she loves you? If she hasn't, how do you know? Or does her bringing cheese puffs to you serve as how she demonstrates her fondness for her own flesh and blood?

As Kenny stammered to find the proper retort, Eve bored in and drilled down. It was all or nothing at all, so she fired the last bullet in the chamber.   


“Who’s your daddy, Kenny? Is it  _ really _ someone your mom shacked up with over a one-night stand and left a little gestating bundle of nerdy joy in her or could it be someone like---oh, I don’t know. Maybe a certain chubby but cuddly Russian bear who has slept under the same roof as you do for more than a few nights.”

He looked at her blankly as his mouth tried to work, but none were forthcoming. Then Kenny did something not even Eve could have predicted. He threw his head back and screamed, 

Brock leaned back in his chair and despite the miserable pain allowed himself a tight little smile. 

“Perhaps you can catch more bees with honey instead of a honey trap, Hathaway.” 

“Yessir,” he sighed. 

“I know this isn’t easy for you Kenny, but this has to stop,” Eve said soothingly as she stroked his hair. “Your mother has to be stopped before she kills me or Brock. For all we know, you may be saving her life from The Twelve once they find out she's been discovered by MI6. I know I’ve done so many things wrong, but I want to make things right. I swear I do, Kenny!”

This was another lie on Eve's part. She didn't want to make anything right unless it made things right for her. She didn't care about MI6, the Twelve or whether England drowned underwater as the ocean rose around it. She didn't care about anything but scratching a maddening itch she could not reach.

_Not yet anyway. The other voice that sounded exactly like hers quieted and allowed her to focus. Perhaps her lust for_

Eve was rolling the dice that Kenny’s shy fondness for her could be leveraged against his paralyzing fear of Carolyn. If it came up snake eyes, the decision would be taken away from her and Brock, and somebody else would take over the interrogation. Somebody who had other ways and means of finding out what they needed to find out. 

With a heavy sigh, Kenny looked directly at Eve and said, “Okay. I can’t keep this up any longer. I think about quitting every day. Leaving MI6. Leaving England. Leaving my mum. Just go and start working in Silicon Valley or maybe I’ll be an international hacker. I just want to be left alone, Eve. Is that asking too much?”

“No, Kenny. You deserve to have your own life,” she said patting his hand. “Will you help me?”

“Yeah. I will. What do you need to know?’ he replied in a tired voice. If she could have allowed herself the indulgence of a self-satisfied fist pump, Eve might have, but she still had to land the fish she had caught and reeled in. Being overly confident might allow the fish to yet still slip the hook. She calmed herself and spoke in a neutral and dispassionate voice.   


“I near to hear _everything_ you can tell me. But Brock has to hear it to to do us any good. Whatever you have on The Twelve, Carolyn’s connection to them, the Rome operation, her relationship with Konstantin and other Russian nationals as well as who else is in this with her at MI6 and the government.”

“I need it all, Kenny,” she said. “I have to know every dirty little thing Carolyn is involved in. It’s the only way both of us can be free and clear of her.”

He chewed his lip for a moment and looked lost in a thought and then he surrendered. He was too weary to hold out for another minute. “Okay. Okay. I will, Eve. But can you get someone o take these cuffs off me?” he replied. “If I don’t get to the bathroom soon I’m going to piss on myself.”

Eve chuckled and turned her head in the direction of the mirror, “Well, that would be embarrassing so let's see what we can do about that: Mr. Brock, could you cut Mr. Snowton loose now before he has an accident?”

Brock's voice came in overhead, "Not a problem, Eve. Please relax, Kenneth. We'll be right there."

Eve took Kenny's face in her hands and rested her forehead against his. "Thank you, Kenny. Thank you for saving my life." He smiled and looked genuinely happy when he replied, "I'm only sorry I didn't help you sooner, Eve. You are still a good person."

She didn't reply. Why should she bust his bubble with the harsh truth? She _wasn't_ a good person and maybe never had been. Maybe she had only thought she was. Maybe she had only pretended through a tedious marriage and dead-end job; neither of which meant anything to her now. She was certain she no longer wanted to be anybody's "good girl" anymore. 

_ Maybe the Old Eve wasn’t completely ready to get off the stage to make room for New Eve.  _

_ Or maybe Eve that is was finding that killing Eve that was had be a work-in-progress and not at all an easy one.  _

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You can’t semi-rape your last remaining friend in the world and just hug it out, therefore Eve sat in a chair in the corner and tried hard to blend into the woodwork as Brock interviewed Kenny. That this was an “interview” and not an “interrogation” was an important distinction for Brock to make. He wanted to ease Kenny’s mind that nothing bad was going to happen to him or his mother.

Truthfully, only half of that was true, but neither Brock nor Eve were going to tell him differently. 

Three hours in and it was nearly 4:00 in the morning, and Eve hadn’t yawned once. She was riveted by the tech wizard’s detailed explanation of how The Twelve had approached Carolyn and what she demanded from them in return for her cooperation with them. 

Brock demeanor had morphed from a driven, dogged inquisitor to a gentle grandfatherly type who prodded for details with a “Go on, son. Tell me more…” or whenever Kenny fumbled a response with a kindly pat on the hand and a sincere, “That’s okay, Kenny. You were only looking out for your mum’s best interests. “That’s what any good son would do”.

Kenny looked like he had been rode hard and put away wet, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Brock also looked like he was on his last legs and equally ready to knock off for the night. 

“Mr Brock, I’m really tired, sir,” Kenny said as his eyelids fluttering shut, “Can we stop now? I just want to go to sleep.”   


“I agree, Kenneth,” Brock said with his weariness equally evident. “We’ve talked long enough and I want to say you’ve been very helpful. Let’s stop now and get something to eat and get you somewhere safe.”

“Safe? Why would you say that? Kenny asked nervously. “Is my life in danger?”

“Kenneth, i won’t lie to you. You’ve given us some very important information, but The Twelve isn’t going to stop coming at you and your mother until they get you. My job is to make sure that doesn’t happen. We have clothes for you and all the toiletries you need. Take a shower and get some sleep. We will have a lot to discuss tomorrow.” He took Kenny's sleepy nod for agreement. 

With a signal four agents flanked Brock. “Gentlemen, this is your precious cargo today and I expect you to make sure he doesn’t “accidentally” slip and fall in the shower, flush himself down the toilet or drown in the tub. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes sir!” they all responded in unison. 

“Excellent!” Brock nodded. “I expect nothing less than your best and I had better bloody well get it, gentlemen. Now if you’ll excuse me I would like to go home, take a nice hot bath, and then wash some Percocet down with a good Scotch.”

Brock turned to Eve who was still sitting in the corner saying nothing and staring into space. She had a blank look of battle-weary soldier who had seen the horrors of war and was left shell shocked by it. Of course, she hadn’t experienced anything like bombed out buildings, headless torsos, and dead bodies scattered wherever they had fallen. 

Eve was now aware of what she was willing to do to get what she wanted and she was fucking terrified by it. 

“Eve?” Brock said quietly. “Are you okay?” Just as he was about to place a calming hand on her shoulder, she looked up and tried to smile, but could only muster up a grimace.

“No. No, Mr. Brock, I’m not okay,” she said as her eyes began to tear. “I just tried to rape the last friend I have in the world. I’m pretty fucking far from being okay.”

She began to sob and her hands began to shake. The other agents in milling around the room looked uncomfortable. Brock didn’t want to be cast in the role as the wise elder, but there was nobody else qualified, so he had to step up and show a little empathy to the most messed-up woman he had ever had the misfortune to meet in his life. 

“Eve, come with me. Let’s step aside,” he said. “The rest of you lot get all this equipment out of here and back to MI6. I want everything transcribed by the time I get in at 9:00 am, so jump to it.”

Shoulders slumped, despite the glamour of her clothing, Eve felt like a street whore. Instead of using her body for sex she was using it to torment and titillate a weak and immature young man. The worst of it was she didn't really feel as shitty about it as she was telling Brock she was, but fuck him. Why should she tell somebody who had threatened to have her tortured what she was really thinking? Better to let Brock think she was disgusted with herself and felt feelings she wasn't feeling anymore.   


_Regret? Empathy? Guilt? Remorse?_ Villanelle never felt any of those things, so she wouldn't either. Those things only kept her weak, and she was getting stronger by casting aside the mores and rules of a patriarchy that valued females as objects to be sexuallzed and discarded once they became women of a certain age. Women of a certain age whom were still wanted by and lusted for by women like Villanelle. 

That was a concept Eve was becoming more and more comfortable with and the desire to act upon it was becoming unbearable.  


“You need to stop beating yourself up, Miss Park,” Brock said. “This is the job. You’re going to hurt people and sometimes those people are your family and friends. What you did wasn’t exactly by the book, but it was better than some of the things we could have done to get Kenny to confess.   


“This will serve you well in the long run,” he said. “You helped Kenny by turning him against Carolyn. He had to choose a side and he chose the right one.”

Eve never raised her head to look at Brock. She was a show of shameful contrition as she quietly murmured, “What I did was unforgivable. I hurt one of the few people left in the world who cared about me. I fucked over a friend to go fuck a ghost.”

Feeling a bit embarrassed, Brock said, “I don’t know what’s worse sometimes. Having a conscience or not having one. It’s a dirty game we play, Eve. When you’re neck deep in blood and shit, you’re never going to feel entirely clean again. I know that doesn’t help you now, but it’s the God’s honest truth.”

“Yeah,” she replied. “Anything for queen and country, right?” He nodded affirmatively and she choked down the overwhelming urge to laugh right in his hairy face.   


More than anything Eve craved a glass of wine or a dozen. She wanted to dive into a bottle and drown. And dream dreams of a future reunion that was long overdue.   


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  
  


It was 2:30 in the morning when the SUV glided to a stop at the address. Sanchez turned on the dome light and glanced curiously over her shoulder and glanced back to her passenger.

“We’re here.”

  
  


Eve leaned forward and looked at the overgrown grass and weeds in the front lawn with mild curiosity. Nico mowed the lawn every two weeks without fail whether it needed it or not. Maybe the mower was broken?

“Yeah. Thanks.” She reached for the door handle.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you in the house, Eve?” Sanchez said and the edginess in her voice could not be concealed by professional detachment. She had looked into the eyes of Eve’s husband and hadn’t quite shaken off the harrowing experience. “It doesn’t look like anyone is home.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. Eve stepped out of the car and waved at Sanchez. “Look, at least take this." She reached into her pants pocket and tossed over a can of Mace to Eve. 

“If Nico gets in your face the way he got into mine, soak the fucker with some of this and then get the hell out of there.” She looked dubiously down the street and saw there was nowhere to park in front of the house so Sanchez would either have to double park or circle the block.

“Just go around a few times, Rosalyn,” Eve said. “If I need you, just follow the sounds of me screaming bloody fucking murder.” 

Sanchez looked uncertain for a moment and then nodded in agreement. "It’s 2:35 am, Eve. You have 20 minutes and in 19 I’m coming in and I’ll shoot the fucker in the nuts if he gives me any shit. ANY shit at all. You got that?”

Eve smiled pleasantly, "Why Rosalyn, you almost sound as if you care what happens to me," and leaned in to the open window bringing her face close to the startled MI6 agent. "That makes me feel all warm and tingly all over Careful, or I might ask you to wash my back when I take my shower tonight."

Sanchez made a face and sneered, "Don't flatter yourself, lady. I'm not into girls, but even if I was, I'd hook up with one who didn't have so much blood under their fingernails, so back the fuck up off me. I have a job to do and I'm doing it. That's all."

With a smug smile Eve said sweetly, "You remind me of somebody else who said the same thing until she found out different." She leaned back away from the car and started up the steps. "See you in 20 minutes."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As she waved at the departing neither Sanchez nor Eve noticed the curtain in the living room moving. 

Eve shoved a hand in her leather jacket. She had changed her clothes into a white t-shirt and black jeans and black Reeboks. Sanchez had told her all about Nico’s threat when she made her visit and Eve had listened slightly startled by her description of her husband as a drunken, disheveled wreck. She couldn’t believe such a mild-mannered man could have fallen to such a state based upon their marriage falling apart.

Then Brock informed Eve that Villanelle had killed Gemma and locked Nico in the storage locker before the Rome assignment. “Ah, Oksana, you always go too far,” Eve mused out loud. “You fucked over Nico to get him out of your way then shot me because you didn’ get your way.”

“What a bitch.”

She shoved her hand into her pocket for her house keys. She didn’t hear the slight squeak of the feet moving across the floor.

Eve slipped the key in the lock. Before she turned it, she paused. The house was completely dark and the porch light was out. 

_ You sure about this? You really want to face your hubby when you were told in no uncertain terms he hates you and wants to break your neck for all the undeserved misery you’ve brought into her life. You know he blames you for Villanelle murdering Gemma. You think this can be talked out calmly over a cup of tea? _

She twisted the key and pushed the door open. Stepped in. Saw nothing but darkness on top of darkness. She reached for the light switch. It clicked uselessly and nothing more. The only sounds were from a wall clock ticking away and the dim glow from the street lights outside. 

The smell though. There was no avoiding that. Sanchez hadn’t exaggerated in how foul and fetid the stench was. Eve placed her hand over her nose and tried breathing through her mouth.

“Niko?” No sound. No answer.   


She stepped fully into the hallway and pushed the door shut behind her. Before she could turn to lock in from the inside an arms wrapped around her neck and yanked her backward. Her arms flailed back as she lost what little breath she had taken in.

“Hi, Eve.” a voice slurred into her ears. It was warm and reeked of booze and unbrushed teeth. 

“Ni--Niko,” she croaked out. “It’s me. Eve. Wh-what are you doing?” His clutching arms around her waist tightened and she could only groan as her ribs churned inward.

“Welcoming you home, darling.” 

With a strength she had never known he possessed Nico hoisted her into the air above his head as her feet kicked into the air. Then Nico he flung her away him and Eve flailed through the air as she smashed into the the steps leading upstairs.

She screamed as her twisted landing with a sickening thud on her left shoulder on the second and third steps. Pain lashed through her as she barely avoided hitting the stairs head first. 

“Shut the fuck up you stupid dyke CUNT.” Nico kicked her viciously in the hip. Eve yelped. She tried pushing herself upright when his knee pressed into her back and then he was pushing her face into the wooden steps. She moaned and bit her tongue to avoid screaming again. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt her. Which was fine for Nico. He already had made plans on how he was going to get his satisfaction from his wife. The way any man should when a bitch got out of line. 

"I know what you need, Eve. I’ve _always_ known what you need and I’m gonna give it to you right fucking now. Right where you need it most,” he spat out. She couldn’t see his face through her clenched teeth and agony, but she could hear everything, smell everything and it was she could do not to vomit.

"You'll never go back to a woman again after I'm finished with you."

Nico began to unzip his fly. If Eve could have turned around she would have gazed into the face of a man that vaguely resembled her dear, sweet, boring, only-in-missionary position hubby of 15 years, but now was more the slavering beast than a gentle, but unimaginative husband.  


Eve wasn’t the only one in touch with her seedier, less inhibited side. While he was locked in the storage room with Gemma's rotting corpse, Nico had heard his own devils and demons whispering in his ears. Always whispering. Now they weren't whispering. They were screaming terrible things in his ears. Now he was going to live his sick little fantasies and not simply imagine it. 

Eve cried out, “  _ No, no, no _ …Nico don’t DO this” but Nico Polastri ignored her and once he had freed his penis he began to yank Eve’s jeans down

The sick grin on his yellowed teeth resembled nothing less than a rutting wolf about to take his mate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few more chapters to go, but what else will Eve had to do to leave her past and face her future and how much more of her soul will she have to sell to get there?
> 
> As always your thoughts and comments, good, bad or indifferent are welcomed. You can also hit me up on Tumblr @killingevekindoflove and I have a Pinterest page of the same name.
> 
> Once again, Congrats to Jodie Comer. You are truly living your best life, but it's going to only get better.


	10. The Tenth Taste of Sin: Home Is Where the Hatred Is.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Nico reconnect.
> 
> Eve and Nico do _not_ reconcile. Quite the opposite, actually. 
> 
> There  
> Will.  
> Be.  
> Blood.
> 
> But seriously, could it have ended any other way? Some things you can't work out in a civil way over a cup of tea. Like when your crazy Russian assassin kills my not-quite side chick just because she wants me out of her way to you.
> 
> This is that.
> 
> _Warning: If you are triggered by or uncomfortable with descriptions of forced sexual assault, this is **not** the chapter for you. _
> 
> Otherwise, enter of your own free will.

Once upon a time there was a famous---some might say infamous---college basketball coach who was being interviewed by a female reporter and he quipped, “I think that if rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it.”

Eve recalled that line from a Woman’s Studies class she took in college. The misogyny of the remark made her sick to her stomach. It chilled her to her soul to know there were men who thought the same way as the basketball coach.  _ Lie back and enjoy it _ . How sick must you have to be to say something like that. Only a man who hated women could be so flippant about something so hatefully horrific. 

She recalled it now because her husband was about to rape her right there on the steps of their home and nothing about it was relaxing or enjoyable. It was horrific and terrifying. 

Eve would not let it be inevitable. 

“Nico, get off of me. Get off of me NOW!!!” she thundered. 

This seemed to amuse Nico as he struggled to hold Eve in place with one hand and yanking her jeans and underwear down with the other, “What are you going about it I don’t, Eve?” he sneered.

Eve wasn’t strong enough to push Nico off her back, but she had built up enough upper body strength from all the workouts and push-ups and this allowed her to get her arms under her and thrust her body upward when her drunken, imbalanced assaulter was awkwardly trying to hold her in place, remove her clothing and maintain a semi-hard erection. 

Nico tumbled backwards and Eve took the opportunity to jump to her feet and reach in her jacket pocket for Sanchez’s can of Mace. They were quite a sight the two of them. Nico staggering to his feet with his dick hanging out and Eve with cascades of her hair tumbling over her face as she tugged her pants up. 

_ Yeah, this must look funnier than hell, but there’s nothing funny about a husband trying to rape his wife _ .

“You--you’re gonna regret that. bitch.”

“Not as much as you’re going to regret this pepper spray if you take another step toward me, fucker.” 

The iciness in her voice stopped Nico in his tracks. He was drunk, but not so drunk he wasn’t startled by the sincerity of the threat.

“I can’t believe you tried to  **rape** me, you fucking piece of shit.”

They stared at each other like two lions battling for supremacy in the gloom of the dark hallway. Eve’s eyes had adjusted just enough that she could see the twisted snarl on his lips. She had never seen Nico like this before, but he had never seen Eve like this before either, so the score was even. 

“Eve, you’re my wife. I can’t rape my wife,” he blurted out, “We’re married! That means it’s not rape!"

Eve’s face twisted into fire-breathing rage.

“Bullshit! Fuck you, Nico! You don’t get to fuck me just because you want to! Go get Gemma or one of your students if you want to screw whenever you want”

“Do you know what your lesbo buddy did to Gemma? She suffocated her and locked me in the storage locker for three days. Three days where I could watch her fall apart and begin to rot and decay,” his bloodshot eyes began to water with tears, “THREE DAYS, Eve! Villanelle killed Gemma. Did you know that?”

Eve glared at her husband and shook her head, “No. I didn’t Nico. I didn't know. Not until a few hours ago, but since you didn’t come to see me when I was recovering from being shot, I can’t say I give a fuck about Gemma. Or you either.”

“What--who shot you?” He asked confused, “Are you okay now?”

“Oh, so  _ now _ you’re concerned? Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just fine after the same bitch who offed your big tits girlfriend turned around and shot me in the back. That's right, Niko: Villanelle killed your girlfriend and almost your wife too. I never told her to do a thing to Gemma, and I would have told you had you given two shits and showed up at the fucking hospital.” 

“I didn't know! I figured you told her to do it! You mean--Villanelle shot you?  _ After _ killing Gemma because I told her I still loved you? That makes no sense!” 

Eve laughed bitterly, “Villanelle is crazy. I don't expect her to make sense, but neither does it make sense for my husband of 15 years to brutalize and violate me on these dirty steps, but here we are. I am done with you, Nico. **WE** are done. Now get out of my way. I came here to talk-- _ -just talk _ \----like civilized couples do when things fall apart, but it’s too late now. Step aside, or I’ll empty this can right in your face.”

The love she had felt for Nico had curdled like spoiled milk, but Eve was far beyond the point of caring. She had hurt Nico and there was no denying  _ that _ , but it didn’t justify  _ this _ . Rather than put him through the dangers and uncertainty of her current life, she would have stepped aside and he could live his life in peace. 

That was before Nico had beaten and tried to rape her. Any possibility of a peaceful and civilized parting of the ways had been blown to smithereens and damned if Eve was going to feel she was responsible. She didn’t want to kill, but she wasn’t going to be anyone’s punching bag.

He had other ideas. “You are my wife and you will do what I say, Eve. ” he growled. Done with words, Nico took a step, then two toward Eve. 

She backed away. She had hoped her tough talk might give him a reason to pause, but instead it had the opposite effect.

Tough talking wasn’t going to work. Maybe a last-ditch plea to what was left of his rational mind might?

“Don't do this, Nico,” she said forcing herself to sound calm. “We can stop this right now. Just let me go and we can talk about this some other time. Maybe we could do lunch in a few days and if you want a divorce, that’s no problem. What we had doesn't have to end like _this_.”

In response, Nico grinned insanely, guffawed loudly, and smashed his hand hard enough against the wall it knocked a picture to the floor and glass splattered. 

“ _ You’re _ my problem. You, and that sadistic Russian bitch, Eve,” Nico replied. “Now I’m going to solve that problem. With my two good hands.”

Eve raised the can of pepper spray, but Nico was faster. He stepped forward and batted the can out of Eve’s hand, then closed the gap between them. throwing a wild right cross to her jaw sent her stumbling back. The can ricocheted off the wall and fell behind Nico to be lost in the darkness. 

“You HIT me, you motherfucker!” Eve shrieked.

In response Nico said nothing but balled his fists up as he continue to advance upon Eve. She continued to scurry just beyond his reach.

“I’m going to do a lot worse to you than just thump you around a bit, Eve. Somebody should have taught you respect a long time ago, but since they didn't, I’m the bloke who is going to make sure you learn some now!” 

Nico threw a right uppercut at Eve, who flinched back more in fear than sharp reflexes and stepped away from the blow. It would have broken her jaw had it landed, but she figured out too late he had thrown a feint to set her up for a left cross which smashed into her cheek, loosened a tooth, and clipped her nose. 

As blood spurted from Nico's punch, Eve gritted her teeth and willed herself not to scream or fall, but she realized she wasn’t going to get out of this with sweet words and feeble pleas. It would require direct action and life-saving deeds.

This was no longer about a misguided attempt at a reconciliation before their inevitable separation. This was now about surviving a threat from the last man on earth she ever considered would launch such an attack . 

Eve was losing confidence she might survive this horror without killing or being killed. Nico seemed unhinged enough to take it to the limit. As she retreated from flight to fight mode, Eve recalled how in a rare moment of making conversation Villanelle had explained during the Rome operation how whenever she entered a room, even if she was already armed, she would search for everyday objects which might be repurposed as weapons of opportunity. 

Eve was making enough pleading and begging sounds to momentarily amuse Nico enough so that he had not pounced upon her and pinned her to the ground to throttle the life out of her. At least not yet, but Eve wasn't about to wait for this brute to strangle her. Not here and not now. She did a quick mental inventory of where in the house offered her best chance for survival. 

_ Hallway? _ There's a coat rack, but it’s behind the door and I’ll never find the Mace before he’s on top of me. No good.

_ Living room? _ Slightly better. There were chairs and tables and furniture she could put between her and her bloodthirsty husband. There were books and other things she could throw at him, but nothing sharp or heavy enough to do him any real damage. 

_ Kitchen? _ There were spoons and forks to jab with and knives to stab with and pots and pans and plates to throw and glasses to break and wielded as jagged weapons.

_ Sold! _

Eve turned and sprinted into the kitchen. Nico’s eyes widened in realization and he chased after her.

Though far from an athlete, Eve had been receiving more regular exercise than Nico who hadn’t lifted anything heavier than a whiskey bottle for weeks now and he was surprised by how this had turned out to be harder than he had imagined it would be. He was bloated, hung over, and lacked the stamina for a prolonged fight even with a lightweight like Eve, but by God, he’d be damned if he allowed this little cunt to humiliate him for another minute.

Eve needed a lesson and Nico figured he was the best man for the job of teaching her. Harshly. 

He stomped into the kitchen and before him was Eve standing her ground. Illuminated by the moonlight shining through the open drapes, she was facing him and standing in a defensive crouch staring at him intently.

In her right hand she brandished a silver carving knife. 

Momentarily startled, Nico stopped in his tracks. Eve, wary of him rushing her, shuffled around their small dinner table, never breaking eye contact.

“Don’t do it, Nico.” she said. “Let me pass. We don’t have to hurt each other. Not anymore.”

His only response was to shake his shaggy head, “No.” 

He looked aggressive, angry and out of control. He looked  _ mean _ . Mean like the kind of men who only felt like one when they were beating on a woman or yelling at a woman walking down the street about how nice her boobs were and she should smile more or the kind that pinches your ass and won’t give you the job because you haven’t sucked his cock yet. Shitty men. Eve was tired of shitty men and besides... 

_ Nico looked like he had lost his goddamn mind _ . 

So Eve did too. It was another side of Eve coming out to play and she played very, very rough. 

“Before we do this Nico, there’s something you need to know about me. A lot that has changed over the past few months, but you have the right to know if you lay another hand on me, I’ll cut the fucking thing off and shove it up your stupid ass.”

His next step paused in mid-air and while his eyes were as red as two fire trucks parked next to each other, he wasn’t so drunk and furious as not to be shocked by how foul-mouthed and vicious his sweet little Eve had become.

Unfortunately, he was drunk enough to miss the warning, “What?  _ What _ did you just say to me? Have you gone completely mad, Eve?” 

“It’s been suggested,” she shrugged. “But do yourself a big favor, Nico. Back the fuck up and let me pass before I make you get out of my way.”

In the moonlight, she could see how Nico’s face had turned redder than the jumpsuit Villanelle had worn in Rome. 

_“Well?”_

“You  _ are _ crazy aren’t you? I’m bigger and stronger than you are Eve. I told that MI6 bitch when she came by to get the shit your killer slut left you I was going to wring your fucking neck and I keep my promises.”

Eve flipped the knife in the air and snagged it by the handle. 

“Nico, I’ve killed two men bigger, stronger, and better armed than you are, and while I don’t want to make you my third kill, I’m not going to let you make me your first.”

He didn’t react. He kept advancing. Apparently, he believed she was still bullshitting. Again.

His mistake. Eve was deadly serious. 

“Last chance, honey. Move or be removed.”

She wasn’t boasting. She was warning. But Niko wasn’t paying attention.

He screamed and charged Eve which was a bad mistake and she showed him how big of a mistake it was. 

She gracefully dipped under his bull rush and as his filthy hands grasped empty air, Eve spun around, and with one precise slash chopped Nico’s dangling knob off. It flopped to the floor reaching it mere seconds before its former owner crashed in a heap right next to his just liberated appendage. 

_ “Ole,” _ Eve cracked. “Come on, Toro. You’re a big bull, so come here and give mama a great big old fucking. Oh, dear. I’m sorry. You need a cock to fuck with and you’re short one.”

The high-pitched wailing and screeching by Nico could wake the dead or at least the whole neighborhood as lights began to flash on around the Polastri home. 

“See what I just did there, Nico?. Aw, fuck you. You’re not even listening!" Eve huffed with faux indigence as she placed her hands on her hips. Meanwhile, Nico howled and yelped like a whipped dog as he turned the air blue with unbelievably foul curses in English and Polish. 

“ _ Człowieku, suko ” (Man up, bitch)_, Eve sneered as her husband lay writhing in his own blood and vomit. 

Somehow---maybe it was all the alcohol---Nico found his wits long enough to croak, “ _ Eeee--eve _ . You don’t speak enough Polish to know how to say that! Wh---what the fuck,” he gasped and groaned. 

“Who are you?” he screamed. “WHO ARE YOU????”

Eve walked over to Nico. Crouched down, straddled his chest as blood seeped through his fingers. She allowed herself to endure Nico’s foul, fetid stench t to put her face right up next to his and hiss, “ _ I am Eve and that is all you need to know _ .” 

Then she kissed her husband full on the lips, as her bloodied nose and lips mingled with his own.

Eve stood and raised the knife up and over her head. The blade was poised to deliver the finishing stroke. Nico eyes were wide-open and full-blown with the absolute terror of knowing what is coming next and  _ you are going to die _ and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

“Eve, please don’t. I beg of you, don’t kill me.”

With her good right arm still over her head, Eve gazed down at Nico as if seeing him for the first time. Nico held his breath and waited. Then waited some more. 

Eve shrugged her shoulders as if she had just come to a momentous decision. Or a minor one depending which version of herself had possession of the shared brain cell. .

“Okay.” She dropped the blade and it planted into floor mere inches away from Nico’s ear.

“Jesus fucking Christ!!,” he yelped.

“Oh, shut up! I missed you by a mile, you big baby,” she sneered.

It was then Nico recalled that he was still minus a penis, and began again to shriek and yowl, gibber and babble incoherently.

He was hoping if he tried to appeal to Eve’s nice and decent and normal side she would take pity on him and help him. At least until she got close enough that he could trap her throat between his hands. 

But nice, decent and normal Eve wasn’t driving the bus at that moment. This Eve was, and she was determined to drive the bus over his useless ass. 

“Bye-bye, Nico.” Eve said with a dismissive hand wave. “Maybe the next time you try to rape a woman you’ll have grown a new dick. Take better care of it, okay?”

Not appreciating his wife's flippant tone, her husband screeched, “I’m going to KILL YOU, Eve!” 

“Get in line, Nico. You dickless asshole.    
  


Eve leaned against the wall and headed down the hallway to the front door. Behind her sweating and swearing profusely , Nico grimaced, propped himself up on an elbow and wiggled and wrenched the blade free from the linoleum floor.

As she approached the door, Eve was suddenly deafened by the insistent pounding and kicking on the door by Agent Sanchez. 

“EVE!!! Are you alright? Oh, please God!!! Just this one time, please!,” Sanchez screamed as she continued to throw her shoulder against the door.

This moment, Eve thought, seemed as good as any to set the stage and finish the act.

“SANCHEZ!!!!, He’s trying to kill me! Oh please God, Help me,” Eve screeched and began to pound on the door. 

Before she could respond, Sanchez heard an ungodly howl as Nico lunged into into the hallway ready to finish the bloody job he had started. Sanchez’s training kicked in. There was the unmistakable lights and sounds of emergency services growing ever nearer, but she had no more time to waste waiting for reinforcements to arrive. She had to get in there right fucking NOW.

“Stand back! Get the fuck back, Eve!” Sanchez yelled, and the former MI6 agent shifted away from the door as four rounds blew the door lock open. Sanchez charged in just as Nico Polastri, covered in blood, piss and vomit, came charging into view, obviously out of his mind and about to stab his wife to death as she screamed blue murder.

Sanchez steadied herself and let three rounds fly. The first struck Nico dead center mass in the chest. The second flew through his throat as an amazing geyser spurted from his mouth and out of the top of his head, as the third bullet ripped off a meaty chunk of his left ear. 

He was dead before he hit the floor. Sanchez froze for a second and then rushed inside, yanking Eve to her feet from where had been cringing behind the slug-splintered wooden door.

“Eve! I’m here. Are you alright? Are you okay?” 

In response, Eve wailed uncontrollably, cried and trembled. She struggled to form complete sentences. 

_ “He--he--he- was going to rape me! He wanted to rape me. He said he was going to kill me! Oh my God. Is he okay? Is Nico okay? Maybe he just lost it for a minute...is he okay? Oh God, why is all this blood on me? Whose blood is it?” _

The insistent screech of emergency squads and police arriving on the scene drowned out Sanchez’s response as she wrapped the sobbing woman in one arm and held her MI6 identification up high as booted feet pounded up the steps of the Polastri home.

_ “PUT YOUR HANDS UP. DO NOT MOVE OR WE WILL SHOOT! FOLLOW MY ORDERS AND GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES AND KEEP YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD AT ALL TIMES!!! _

Sanchez, completely out of fucks to give by now, waved her badge even higher and yelled at the top of her lungs: “I-AM-WITH-MI6! My name is Rosalyn Sanchez, you fucking idiots and this woman is under my protection! That means if anything happens to her, I have the right to shoot you. Are we clear on that you assholes?   


Everybody momentary froze in place until Eve broke the silence.

“Please help my husband. I think he’s dying.” 

Sanchez stared at her with incredulity, then nodded affirmatively. “We need medics in here NOW.”

That usually worked in the movies. This wasn’t the movies so instead, the police commander overruled Sanchez and insisted on searching and clearing the house before giving the all-clear to medical staff that the happy home was safe enough to enter.

Nico was even deader than he had been in the 20 minutes that passed before the "all-clear" command was given and the EMT's were allowed in. Still, nobody seemed terribly upset over the delay in medical services reaching a wife-beating lunatic who had tried to rape her, but first had probably murdered his girlfriend, so fuck the evil bastard. Besides, he reeked like an uncleaned stable stall. Let the coroner deal with the stench. 

Through it all, Eve was inconsolable. She cried and screamed and wailed her deceased spouse’s name over and over. She rocked back and forth as she was examined for a possible dislocated left shoulder, a cracked rib, a concussion, and too many cuts, nicks, bruises, and abrasions to count. 

She had read enough criminology and true crime stories to know it’s not always the act of the killing that undoes you; but how you react when you are the primary suspect in a homicide investigation. She knew a balance had to be carefully struck between contrived grief and the kind that convinces. Eve struck the balance. 

It was quite the performance. The kind that wins acting awards and diverts suspicions that the most likely suspect might not be as innocent as she seemed. 

As long as she didn’t break character there was no reason for Eve t be anything but the poor wife who had been rescued from an animal's depraved and savage assault. Eve was now free to go after Villanelle with the freedom that comes from throwing one’s wedding ring in the trash.

She enjoyed that thought all the way in the ambulance ride to the hospital. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She had a dislocated shoulder and was bruised, bloodied and pretty beat up, but Eve was comforted by the thought that if she had it bad Nico had it worse. Sanchez was surprisingly calm, cool and collected over having to kill Eve’s husband. 

As she recovered Eve slept well and healed comforted with the knowledge that now-- **finally** \---there was no one standing between her and the obsession she craved to possess. No job. No friends. No husband. Nobody and nothing stood between Eve and Villanelle and it made her sleep the sleep of one who knows a maddening itch is going to get scratched. Scratched raw, 

If that’s how it had to go. It might be soft and sweet. It might be hard and nasty. But it was going to happen. Whatever there was between Villanelle and Eve, it had to be settled for better or for worse and as much time they had spent wasted on trying to kill the other without killing themselves it could only get better, Eve was determined to settle this before she died. 

Or she maybe she would kill Villanelle first. Who knew whose foot the shoe would be on the next time?

Eve had hot dreams of fucking Villanelle senseless as she screamed Eve’s name over and over to a maddened orgasm of ecstasy. She had equally cold desires to torture Villanelle slowly and painfully until she begged for Eve a mercy she would never provide.

If she was being entirely honest with herself (which rarely happened) Eve didn’t know which option offered her the most satisfaction. 


	11. The Eleventh Taste of Sin:  "She Who Is Without Sin..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To all things there comes an end. Eve knows a lot about that sort of thing. She's ended a marriage, her employment, her relationships, and the lives of a few people. 
> 
> Now she's free. But not free and clear because there are forces aligning against her and she can't depend on luck alone.
> 
> She needs a favor. As well as a little closure.

After Nico’s death, time slowed down for Eve. 

She spent a few days in the hospital hating the constant probing and poking and the insistence of the nurses that it was time to take her vitals and give her her medicine and she would grumble and curse when they woke her from a sound sleep. Eve enjoyed sleeping. It gave her a respite from the mundane and tedious existence most humans occupied and laughingly called it “living.” 

Working a shit job for shit wages with incompetent shithead bosses and co-workers doing shit work that made no damned difference was how Eve had existed for the last three decades of her life. Eating food she couldn’t taste. Watching television that didn’t entertain. Having sex that didn’t satisfy. That was the life of Eve Polastri. 

Eve Park was sick to death of it. 

She had to play the part of the grief-stricken widow a little longer. Held in the chapel of the funeral home, it was a solemn, but perfunctory event. Eve arrived in a hospital van and her wheelchair was pushed by Sanchez. She dabbed at her eyes and cried softly as she accepted the condolences of the handful of mourners who came to pay their respects. 

A few teachers from Nico’s school arrived late and left early as if they were embarrassed to be seen there. Two or three of the bridge club breezed in and out. They said all the right things to the sad and pale Mrs. Polastri, but Eve knew they weren’t sincere about “checking in to make sure you’re getting on alright.” 

_ God, why don’t people just say what they really think instead of what they think they’re supposed to say? It was all so fake. Then Eve realized she had been one of those people for all of her adult life and stopped pondering the phoniness. It was taking her to places inside herself she didn’t want to go.  _

Nico’s parents and sister were kind, but not warm toward Eve. Then again, they never had been, so this was only more of the same. When he first introduced her to his family, she knew they had taken an instant dislike to this skinny, wild-haired, flat-chested Asian woman who wasn’t good enough for their Nico. He was young and shaggy, but good-looking even before he grew the mustache. Nico had far better choices than this underfed wisp of a woman. How could he possibly want to marry and God forbid, have children with someone like... _like her?_

_ You racist assholes. _

Any holiday spent with Nico’s family was a miserable experience of forced smiles and polite nods when Mama Polastri started her passive-aggressive crap about, “Well, Evie and Nico. Any chance of you making me a grandmother next year? Wouldn’t that be the nicest gift ever?”

_ A gift for you, maybe, you selfish old cunt. For me, it would be a labor all right, but out of duty, not love. _

Children had never raised a blip on Eve’s radar. She liked them fine enough, but not enough to want one of her own. She preferred being around children secure in the knowledge they would eventually be going home with their parents. It had not been a surprise to Nico when Eve declared she didn’t want kids. Nor was it a surprise when the holidays rolled around and Mama Polastri had no bouncing bundle of joy to bounce on her knee and make stupid sounds to. Nico's sister had popped out three screaming brats, but that wasn't enough for Mama Polastri. It hadn't been good enough for Eve's mother either which was another reason they rarely spoke.

_ That had a lot to do with the kid-free decision. Mama and Papa Polastri had treated her like she was a virus their son would shake off. Her mother was bitterly disappointed in her disinterest in making her a grandmother. Eve was over feeling guilty about it . Why should she make herself miserable to make them happy? _

It had taken a long time for Eve to summon up the courage to tell her husband she wanted no part of carrying on the family name with a son and she spent many a sleepless night staring at the ceiling wondering if she had made the right choice.

_ Am I going to disappoint Nico? Maybe his family would like me better if I had a baby? _

Now they were scared of her. And why wouldn’t they be? The Polastri's didn’t have all the information on how their son had gone so wrong that he ended up being gunned down in his own home just as he was about to stab his wife to death.

She must have pushed him to the edge and over it. You couldn't trust someone like Eve. She was sneaky and what was all this stuff about serial killers and assassins? Any time a preview for some show about one of them came on the television, Eve would become intrigued if it was one of those maniacs she had studied in school and now with her MI5 job. Oh, and then there was the small little detail that even if she had done so in self-defense, Eve had chopped Nico’s knob off. Who could **do** such a thing? Certainly not meek and mild Eve, the nice Korean girl with the crazy, curly hair?

_ Yeah. Turns out she could do such a thing. _

She could see it in their body language and the way they couldn’t look her directly in the eyes. In the way they cleared their throats and forced themselves to be polite. Eve badly wanted to laugh in their stupid faces, but she had to play the game. Just be cool and hang on a little bit longer, and then she would never have to see them again. 

_ Good-bye and good riddance, you fat, shepherd pie-eating shitheads. Die in a crash on your way home. _

The few remaining matters were to file a claim to receive Nico’s life insurance money and handling what to do with the house. Eve wanted no part of it or anything else in there. Not the photographs, not the furniture, and certainly not the clothes. All of that stuff could go to charity or a landfill. She didn’t much care either way.

Eve felt a giddy weightless. She had shrugged off the last remaining remnants of the Unremarkable Times and Boring-Ass Life of Eve Polastri. Only air and opportunity stood between her and what she planned to do next. After she finished this dreary little facade of grief and loss.

As the Polastri's shuffled out, Sanchez, smartly dressed in a tasteful black suit approached Eve in her wheelchair and said, “You go ahead and let those tears flow, Miss Park. You’ve gone through hell and back in the last few months. Nobody is going to hurt you again while I’m on watch.”

Sanchez handed Eve a freshly-opened box of Kleenex. As she looked up into Sanchez’s brown eyes, Eve noticed, not for the first time, how pretty the agent was. Her hair was worn short, but it was nicely styled and fell just to her long thin neck. Her lips were plump and the sweet little smile she gave Eve as she patted her reassuringly on the hand sent a mild, but pleasant stirring in her chest. And other places.

_ Down, girl! Yes, it’s been too damn long since we were last properly serviced, but you can’t eye-fuck your hot Latina bodyguard in a funeral home. It’s just not done _ .

Eve suppressed a low groan that came through her mouth, but had begun between her legs.

“It’s time to get you back to the hospital, Eve,” Sanchez said missing the sound had come not from wincing pain, but Eve’s frustrated horniness. “You’re scheduled to be discharged this afternoon.”

“I’m fine, Rosalyn,” Eve sniffled. “It’s just been a long day. I’m going to miss Nico so much.”

She dabbed at her eyes and looked down at her hands in her lap, hoping to make herself look lost and lonely and uncertain of what tomorrow would bring as she possibly could. Sanchez rubbed a hand on her shoulder and replied gently, “I understand, Eve. You loved him for a long time, but you can't forget he turned on you and tried to break you into pieces. You should mourn who he was, but despise what he became.”

Eve slowly nodded her head in response. Outwardly, she was every inch the grieving widow. Inwardly, she was firing on all synapses as she fantasized practicing upon Rosalyn what she planned to do to Villanelle. 

There was one loose thread to cut first. She reached into her purse, tapped her phone and speed-dialed the number of Elena Felton. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first sign this wasn’t going to be any fun came as soon as Eve limped into the restaurant.

Elena was already there waiting with an empty cup of coffee and signaling the waitress for a refill. That was unusual. Elena always arrived late to a meeting. The fact she had obviously made an effort to get there before Eve was a dead giveaway she wasn’t feeling particularly good about this.

Further confirmation came when Eve approached the booth and Elena didn’t get up and sweep her up into a tight hug as was her normal practice. 

“Hello, Elena,” Eve said a bit more cheerily than necessary. “Thank you for meeting me this morning.”

“Um-hmmmm…” Elena murmured as the waitress poured the coffee. “I figured it was best to meet you here in public than for you to show up unannounced at my front door one day.”

_ Well, okay then.  _

Eve ignored the jab and slid gingerly into the seat opposite Elena. There was a part of her that even with a cracked rib, desperately wanted Elena to wrap her arms around her, but since she had made it apparent she wasn’t interested, she pushed the longing for human contact aside.

“So, what do you want, Eve?” Simple. Direct. Blunt. Cold. It reminded her of someone she had seen smirking back at her in the mirror lately.  


“Thank you for meeting me, Elena,” Eve repeated. “I wanted to talk to you about some of the things that have happened since you left Carolyn’s team. She ran a hand through her curly hair. “God, I don’t---I don’t know where to start.”

Elena sipped from her cup, then said without looking up, “Start at the beginning. That’s always a good place.”

For the next hour, Eve told Elena what had happened in Paris when she tracked Villanelle down. Most of it anyway. She skipped her confession that she thought about Villanelle all the time. She also skipped Villanelle’s reply how she masturbated a lot over Eve. That seemed like too much information to share so she kept that one to herself. It had kept her warm on more than a few cold nights.

In detail and at length, Eve confessed nearly everything which went down after Paris, carefully editing out Villanelle’s second visit to Eve’s home and what happened after she promised Villanelle to give her everything she wanted. She told the truth when it didn’t make her sound completely unhinged instead of mildly deranged. Eve spun facts to fit her interpretation, provided half-truths when full truths worked against her and lied outright if it worked in her favor. 

She filled in most of the blanks all the way to Rome including using Hugo as a fuck toy only to toss him aside like a broken one when Villanelle manipulated her into believing she was in danger. Not that she needed much prompting. She shared how Carolyn’s clean-up crew had swept up the recordings of the hired assassin getting Aaron Peel to discuss his data mining weapon along with Hugo's body. She had been told he made it but she was indifferent. She had gotten what she needed from him, so why worry? 

Eve soberly divulged how she had killed Raymond in defense of Villanelle, whom in a rage had repaid her by shooting her in the back and leaving her to die, had not the clean-up crew shown up to drag her back to London as she recovered only to find herself killing Carolyn’s lapdog in defense of  _ her  _ own life. . 

Eve left out the part about what she had done with Kenny. She sensed it wasn’t the right thing to tell Elena about. Not today. Or ever. This, she could find out on her own. 

Elena pushed away her barely picked over plate of eggs and bacon, “Suddenly, I’m not hungry.” Eve wasn’t in the mood to eat anything more than a muffin, and gestured to the waitress for a refill of coffee. The silence between the two women hung heavily until Eve finally gave in and broke it.

“I know this is a lot to take in, Elena, but---”

“No shit, Eve,” Elena said blandly. “You are so fucked up I don’t understand how you can even walk upright. Jesus, I feel so dirty after what you just told me that I need a bath.”

Eve blinked in surprise. She had never heard such venom from Elena. She had no clue she was even capable of it.

“Wait a minute, Elena,” she said. “Let me explain this…” 

“Explain? Eve what are you talking about? There’s _ nothing _ to explain,” Elena erupted. “Don’t embarrass yourself by trying to. All that will do is make you an even bigger lying asshole than you already are, so just sit there and shut the fuck up.”

Her ex-boss sat there dumbstruck . Elena leaned forward and stared into Eve’s eyes as she jabbed a finger in her face..

“I need you to understand this. I was a friend of Eve Polastri. I never met Eve Park and I never want to. We clear on this? Nod your goddamn head if you got that?”

Eve nodded her head. 

“Good.”

“I don’t want someone like you around me. It’s not enough that you’ve clearly gone mad, but now you are dangerous and I can’t have that shit in my life. Not anymore.”

“If you would give me a chance to explain, Elena…”

“Shut up!” she spat in response.”I listened to you for over an hour without throwing up or calling you an evil bitch. Now you get to listen to me”

Elena leaned forward, “First, let me inform you I know there's more to the story than you've told me, but we'll let that sit. Secondly, this is the very  _ last _ time I will  **ever** speak or see you. After today we will never speak again, never meet again, and all I need from you is to close your fucking mouth and listen instead, okay?”

“Yes.” .

“I know you are in love with Villanelle. Or at least in love with the idea of who Villanelle is. That is transparent. Everyone could see it and you know what? I totally get it. Nico bored the shit out of you. He knew only one position, missionary, and two movements: up and down.” 

  
“Then he’d get his, roll over and sleep like a snoring baby for the rest of the night while you fingered yourself to a semi-satisfactory finish.”

The truth of it made Eve involuntarily giggle, but Elena didn’t so much as crack a smile.

_ Wow. She must really be pissed at me. _

“After you hired me, you certainly told me enough times what a predictable and lousy lay Nico was. Nice enough guy, but a real boring bastard between the sheets. That part you made clear many a morning after.”

Eve remained quiet, but she knew she had complained enough times to poor Elena about her shitty sex life. She was the type of boss who overshared way too much information with subordinates. 

“When Villanelle showed up you were primed and ready for someone--- _ anyone _ \---to come along and free you from your boring-ass life. As it turned out, it turned out to be a drop-dead gorgeous Russian female formerly known as Oksana Astankova who as Villanelle and a shadowy organization was rampaging across Europe killing whomever she was instructed to.”

“You’ve always been way too into serial killers and assassins, Eve. You enjoy the ones who are stylish and sexy and do it with a certain panache. It’s your crack. You get high off it.  _ Why _ they kill interests you less than _ how _ they feel when they do it.”

“Then along came Villanelle. Beguiling. Mesmerizing. Enchanting. Sexy as hell and makes dicks hard and pussies drip just by walking by. Hell, she looks like something two middle-aged lesbians dreamed up over lunch. She wasn’t perfect, but she was perfect for you.”

“Tell me if I got anything wrong, Eve?” Elena snapped. 

Eve shook her head in agreement she had not.

“You put Villanelle first. Over Bill, your fucking best friend. Over the best job you ever had. Over Nico and Kenny and Carolyn, and if I had been in the way, you would have put me behind Villanelle too. Tell me I’m wrong, Eve. Just try to tell me that.”

Eve sighed, “What else, Elena?”

“Glad you asked, Eve. What about  _ you? _ When was the last time you called Keiko? I distinctly recall you telling me when you walked out of Bill’s funeral---which was hella disrespectful because you made it about yourself instead of Bill---that you wanted to fucking KILL Villanelle with your bare hands.”

Eve lowered her head and picked over the remains of her muffin.

“But that was before you decided, ‘Nah, I wanna fuck her instead,’ right, Eve?”

She didn’t reply. There was no reason to.

“You went running off to Rome for some bullshit operation Kenny fucking warned you not to go on, but you had the scent of Villanelle’s ass up your nose and you were going to follow her to the ends of the earth. Send in an assassin on an undercover mission and the only backup plan are two unarmed desk agents with no field experience? Sure! No way  _ that _ could go wrong,” Elena groaned and shook her head in disgust. 

Eve stared into her coffee cup. It’s darkness stared back and what was reflected in the heady aroma and taste of it was someone who was nice and kind and tried her best to please others by being whatever they wanted her to be. It just wasn’t  _ her _ . There was something else in her that was peculiar, furious and superior and it craved Elena’s contempt. Whatever it was it fed on on the hostility and disapproval of “nice” people like Elena and their moral superiority. 

“Elena, I understand if you’re confused by who I am now,” Eve said. “Trust me when I say I’m just as confused, but for the first time---THE VERY FIRST TIME in my life, I feel more genuine and authentic than I ever have.”

“Whatever else I was before all this--- _this shit_ \---rained down on me, I wasn’t happy. I had an okay job that didn’t particularly challenge me, but between Bill and you, it was bearable. I had an okay house with a nice, but dull husband who may have loved me, but never excited me. I was always the good girl. The one who goes along and gets along and wants everybody to like her.

"I don't want to be liked by everyone anymore." Eve snorted, “Being a good girl is overrated”   
  


The last response Eve expected was for Elena to laugh in her face, but that is precisely what she did. 

“Oh , Eve. Who cares about your bullshit rationalizations?” she snickered her voice dripping with scorn. “Be honest for once and just admit you threw your life in the trash because you got the hots over a psycho assassin who stabbed your best friend to death right in front of you.”” 

Something flared in Eve.  _ Enough. _ Enough of Elena’s sanctimonious, self-righteous horseshit. Who the fuck was  **she** to lecture her like an errant child? 

“You done, Elena? You want to take a breath?,” Eve said as her eyelids narrowed with the charged static in the air of imminent thunder and lightning approaching. “I get it that you don’t like me anymore, but I’m going to need you to stop talking to me that way. It’s rude.”

“You don’t scare me, Eve,” she replied. “While it’s impressive you’ve killed two guys since we last met, you haven’t been able to kill your girl-crush quite as thoroughly. What happened to you in Rome? You had that one coming. It was stupid to turn your back on an armed and angry professional killer. Even stupider than hiring that professional killer to kill you because you wanted to flush her out so she could break the other professional killer you couldn’t.”

“God, I cannot fucking believe you!” Elena pounded the table with a fist making the silverware jump. “And you think this is an improvement? You think you’re some kind of badass, Eve? Huh? Is that it?” 

Eve’s temper could no longer be checked. 

“Let me explain something to you, Elena,” Eve replied sharply. “You think you’re telling me anything I haven’t already told myself over the last 18 months? Trust me when I say, you have not.”

“But neither you nor anybody has the authority to tell me what it is in my heart and whether it is mindless obsession or true love, “ Eve said in a disconcerting tone. “ _ Nobody _ knows me that well. Hell, I’m not even sure if I know myself that well.”

Elena moved away from Eve and sank into the cushions of the booth’s padded seats. 

“What I do know is I don’t need you to tell me how I have screwed over you, Bill, Kenny, Hugo, Jess and anybody else unfortunate enough or stupid enough to put themselves between me and Villanelle,” she said in a matter-of-fact way as if it was no big deal. “I made a bad call. A lot of bad calls and it ended lives. Including the life I thought I was happy living.”

“Eve,” Elena said, “If you could go back and not make those bad calls, would you?”

She paused. Bit her lip and ran her hands through her hair. That was what she did when she was flustered and uncertain. Like now because Elena had her on the spot. 

“I don’t know. And if that scares the hell out of you it scares the hell out of me too.”

Elena stared at Eve as if she had never laid eyes on her before. Which was partially correct. This particular version of Eve was a stranger even to herself. “Elena, you and Kenny represent what little is left of Eve Polasri’s old life. I don’t know if I’m struggling to strike the right balance between who I was and who I am, but I want you to know this. I’m not crazy. I’m not a threat to you. I love you and I would never hurt you, Elena. Do you understand that?” Eve said and brought her hand to Elena’s cheek to tenderly stroke it. It was an unconscious mimic of what she had done to Villanelle in the kitchen and it had calmed her fury. She hoped it would have the same effect on Elena. 

She flinched, but didn’t pull away or push Eve’s hand away. Mostly, she looked sad. The waitress was halfway toward the table to drop off the check and offer a last refill. The two former friends nodded and continued their conversation. 

“Elena, I’m not going to hurt you,” Eve said softy. “I was upset you left without a word while I was running around Europe chasing Villanelle as part of Carolyn’s off-the-books investigative team. I thought you would at least talk to me first, but you made the right call because it was a complete cluster fuck from Day One. Carolyn never wanted to actually catch Villanelle. She wanted to recruit her and all we were was part of that evil bitch’s plot to put together her personal group of black ops assassins."  


“Wait one minute, Eve,” Elena croaked, “What the hell are you telling me? What does that even mean?”

Eve gave Elena a small, sad smile, “What I’m telling you is between you, Bill, Kenny and I, based upon the profile Carolyn and her handler Konstantin put together, only  _ one _ of us would be chosen by Villanelle as the object of her obsessions. Everyone else was put at risk including her own son, but do you wanna guess who drew the shortest straw?”

Elena added cream and sugar to her coffee and pondered this for a moment. It made sense in a horrible way.   
  


"I can't tell you I didn't do all this for selfish reasons, Elena," Eve said almost pleading, "But I can tell you Carolyn's reasons weren't just selfish, but could have led to any or all of us being killed by The Twelve or Villanelle. It took getting shot before I figured out how right she was when she told me if you go high enough you'd find we both work for the same people. Carolyn's scheme confirmed it for me."

There was coldness in her voice as she shot back, “Good for you, Eve Park. But I don’t  _ know _ you. I know Eve Polastri, the boring little housewife and MI5 researcher who led an equally boring marriage to a sweet, but boring math teacher.  _ That’s  _ the Eve I know and love.”

_ “You? _ I don’t know. We’ve never met and I never want to. You are not only insane, but insanely dangerous. Both to yourself and for anyone who knows you! And in my present condition I cannot risk my future for our past friendship,”

A cloud of confusion passed over Eve’s face “Wait--- _what_ condition? Are you sick?” In response, Elena softened a bit as if she had gotten everything out of her system and could finally exhale.   
  


“No, you spectacular dumb ass. I’m pregnant.” It was the first smile on Elena’s beautiful features Eve had seen in the entire time they had been in the restaurant..

“Elena! That’s terrific! Is it a boy or girl? Eve said and then caught herself and hesitated, “Um--I’m assuming this is a wonderful thing, right?”

Elena glared at Eve and then leaned back and sighed. “GOD, you are such a dumb-ass! Of course it’s a wonderful thing! I’m going to bring a baby into this world and while it’s too soon to tell if its a girl or a boy, whatever I end up with I will love and teach and care for so she or he doesn’t grow up as screwed up as you are.”

Caught up somewhere between anger and anguish, Eve pushed down her simmering resentment in favor of her earnest compassion and love for Elena and said, “Oh Elena, that is so wonderful. I wish you nothing but love and happiness for you and the baby.”

Elena glared balefully at Eve leaving the unspoken question out there until Eve withered a bit and said, “Uh---I’m presuming this  _ is _ a happy occasion, right?

“Uh, yes it is you incredible dickhead,” Elena laughed. “I’m really looking forward to the 2:00 am feedings,” she said with an exaggerated eye roll. 

Eve gave a warm smile to Elena’s happy announcement and reached across the table to place her hands over hers. Surprised by the gesture, Elena’s eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away from Eve either.

“I’m leaving England, Elena. There’s nothing here for me now,” she said. “But even if there was, I still couldn’t stay. In exchange for not prosecuting me, MI6 is allowing me to leave the country after I surrender my citizenship.”

“Oh, shit. Where are you going to go? Back to America?”

Eve nodded affirmatively. “So, don’t worry about my shitty life intruding on yours anymore. I just wanted to say goodbye to you in person, Elena. I can’t and won’t apologize for what I’ve done. I don’t think there’s anybody left who would believe it.”

By her silence, Elena made it clear she wasn’t interested in any apologies either. The quiet moment extended for a while as Eve sipped her the last of her coffee while Elena glanced around the table. She checked to see if anyone was paying attention to the mismatched pair. The restaurant was mostly empty except for a few couples chewing and chatting and a woman with earbuds humming to herself as she tapped away rapidly on her phone.  


“People know I’m here, Eve,” she said quietly. “They knew you would be too. They wanted me to wear a wire and record you. They told me they would have a sniper nearby and wanted me to carry a gun to shoot you if you got---out of hand.”

“For some reason, I’m not surprised,” Eve muttered. “I guess Brock still is after my ass even after taking down Carolyn.”

“Brock? Who’s Brock, Eve?” Elena replied. Now she had Eve’s full attention.

“You weren’t approached by an older man with a beard and his left arm in a sling? Or some big asshole name of Hathaway?” 

“I don’t know anybody of that name and haven’t met any bearded old men with a sling, Eve.” she said with honest confusion on her face. “These were younger men. Maybe in their late twenties and thirties, but they weren’t anybody in a leadership position.”

“So who were they then?”

“Eve, they were _agents_. MI6 agents.” 

Which meant either there was a rogue group within MI6 that wanted her dead or they were working for The Twelve. Or maybe they were just some friends of Mason looking to even the score.  


Suddenly Eve realized she had a deadline. She was going to have to get out of England before she ended up shipped home in a box. 

“So, why didn’t you do it?”

Elena shrugged. “I don’t like you that much anymore, Eve, and I certainly don’t feel safe around you. But I’m not going to rat you out to a bunch of arseholes I don’t even know. I’m guessing they have their reasons, but I wasn’t about to ask them. I told them to piss off and to leave me out of it. That may have scared them off for now because they're a little bit afraid of _you_. Still, I suggest you might want to keep your head on a swivel and stay in public places.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I might want to take your advice.” 

The waitress walked by and asked, “Anything else, ladies? Would you like a refill or are you ready for your checks?”

“No thanks on the refills, ma’am and I got this,” Eve said handing over several pounds more than the breakfast had cost. 

“Oh, this is too much, miss.”

Eve looked up, “Keep it. You work hard. You deserve it.” The waitress smiled prettily and Eve took a greater interest checking her out as she walked away. When she looked back, Elena was barely holding it together.

“What? I’m trying to be nice.”

“Yeah, right. By taking a nice long look at her ass.”

They both lost it in a mutual giggle fit until they snorted wiping away tears. It felt good.   


“I can’t believe I’m sitting here laughing with you when I’ve told you five different ways to fuck off,” Elena said.

“Well, welcome to my world. It’s never predictable and it’s always weird.”

“Thanks, but I like my boredom more than your excitement. It’s a lot safer.”

“That baby is so screwed with you as the mother. Is there a father in the picture, if I can ask?”

Elena eased out of the booth and stood up. She glanced out the window and saw it had begun to rain. 

“Thanks for your well wishes, Eve, and yes, there _is_ a father in the picture and maybe a wedding in the future. We’ll see what happens.”

Eve reached into her jacket pocket and handed a thick envelope to the younger woman. Elena looked at her curiously and Eve said with a small smile on her face, “Here’s a little something to help the little bugger and the parents.”

“Huh?” Elena asked curiously. “Why are you being so suspicious?. Ugh. That’s what I hate about you Koreans. Your eyes are always half-closed so you look mysterious and wise,” she said as she ripped the envelope open. 

“That’s racist,” Eve snickered. "I was always told Black people can't be racist. You're blowing your image, Felton!"  


“Oh, like _you're_ the expert on racism or something? I was always told Asians are great at math and you suck at it. You've changed, but you haven't changed that much…” Elena's voice trailed off as she gawked at the large denominations in the fat stack of dollars. “Holy fucking hell, Eve! What bank did you rob? How much is this?

“Mmmmm, about £196016.93 in pounds or $25 thousand U.S dollars," she murmured. "That's from Nico's life insurance policy. It usually takes a few weeks to process, but they got it to me within hours. I didn't need it all and I figured you could put it to better use than I would. Now that you're in a family way, I guess that was right on time."  
  


"Eve---I can't...I can't take this," Elena said in a whisper. "I mean, I could use it, but it's not right. Not after everything that's happened."

"Then don't, Elena. I can't force you to take it, but I want you to have it. Give it to Keiko if you like, but this is a parting gift and after all I have put you through, if you don't deserve this, nobody does."

Eve was doing something she rarely did. She was speaking honestly from the heart. It might be smaller and colder than it used to be, but she still loved Elena for always telling her what she needed to hear instead of what she wanted to hear. There wasn't anybody else left to do the job. _Maybe with one exception. Maybe. If she doesn't shoot me in the face on sight_. 

Eve pushed herself out of the booth as her sore body protested and took a limping step toward her former friend. She extended her right hand.

“Best of luck, Elena. I'm so excited for you. Be happy.” The hand hung there in mid-air as Elena stared for a moment and huffed, “Oh Eve, stop being a dick and give me a hug.”

They embraced and wrapped their arms around each other tightly. For a minute then two they said nothing. Eve felt a wetness on her cheek as tears ran down her face. Elena simply sobbed on her shoulder.

“I don’t like you Eve, but I’ll never stop loving you. Please take care of yourself. And for fuck’s sake try to make yourself happy.”

“Same thing to you, Elena. I’m going to miss you so much,” she said barely audible. “Take care of yourself and congratulations again. You’re going to be a great mother.”

“Yeah. I hope so. Goodbye, Eve”

“Goodbye Elena.”

Elena walked out the door, turned right, and tied a scarf over her wild Afro covering it from the rain as she swiftly vanished from view. 

Eve stared as the last living friend in the world she had turned a corner and disappeared in the morning mist. Sitting at the counter, Rosalyn Sanchez looked up from the texts she was sending from her phone. She had arrived to the restaurant with Eve and gone in first to survey the place as well as if she saw any sign Elena was armed. With her earbuds in, but not on, she could hear and keep a wary watch on the two women.  


"Everything okay, Eve?"

"Yeah. Everything is as okay as it is going to get. We're scheduled to meet with Brock in an hour, so we'd better try to beat the traffic."  


She gazed out the window as the shower came down. The thought of a splinter cell of MI6 agents gunning for her _should_ have terrified her and would have one day, but that day had passed. She was laser-focused and ready to leave England forever to pursue the one thing remaining that mattered to her in this wretched world.

_ You’d better be worth this, Oksana. _

Then she walked out into the rain into the rest of the day and whatever came with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good-bye to an adversary and hello to a...well, what exactly is Villanelle going to be to Eve? Her beginning or her end? A one-and-done or a lover for life? 
> 
> Villanelle told her "You're mine!" Eve told her "No."
> 
> If she reverses the situation will the response be the same? Will the result be the same? How many more times will they try to kill each other before one of them succeeds?
> 
> One more chapter to go before they know.


	12. The Twelfth Taste of Sin:  Sins Forgiven, Not Forgotten

A week later and a rare sunny day in London, Sanchez and Eve walked into MI6 and were admitted into the main lobby after producing identification to three unsmiling guards and verified by a fingerprint and retina scan. No one spoke to them as they strode to the elevators to Brock’s office. The lack of words were made up for with cold stares and muttering under breaths.

Eve ignored it. Sanchez couldn’t. “This is so fucked up,” she whispered. “I’m guilty by association just being seen with you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help, Sanchez,” Eve said as she stabbed the up button. “You’re just doing what you were ordered to do, but as long as you’re cashing the check, don’t bitch about the work.”

Sanchez glared angrily at Eve as they locked eyes until Sanchez looked away first. When the elevator door opened, Eve stepped in and Sanchez stood stiffly next to her. Nothing further was said as they sat in the waiting room outside of Brock’s office. The secretary cut a trim and dignified figure and bore a striking resemblance to Helen Mirren, pointedly ignored them until her phone rang and she said, “Mr. Brock will see you now.” 

Eve was mildly curious as to why a woman of the secretary’s apparent age would still be working? Maybe she needed the money or enjoyed the abuse she got from a sour old fart like Brock. She shuddered at the thought. 

“Good morning, Eve. Hello Agent Sanchez,” Brock said happily. “Would you like some coffee or tea? The croissants are very fresh today.”

The two women shook their head “no” in unison and settled in the chairs before the older man’s desk which was immaculate without as much as a single personal object on it. Brock was thumbing through a brown folder and looking riveted by whatever it was he was reading.

Eve’s right leg was crossed over the left and bobbled up and down with overt impatience. “Everything okay there, Mr. Brock?” she said drumming her fingers on a table making it apparent everything was not okay with her.

Instead of answering her, Brock tapped a button on the desk phone and a female voice answered, “Yes sir?”

“Ah, yes, Pamela. Has the paperwork for Miss Park arrived yet?”

Paperwork? Eve mulled that over for a second. _What_ paperwork?

“Yes sir, it was just dropped off. I was about to bring it to you.”

“Excellent!” he replied and rubbed his hands together looking very pleased with himself, “I’ll be right there.” Brock maneuvered around his desk and strode directly past the two women and said, “Give me a moment, ladies. I’ll be right back.”

Eve and Sanchez looked at each other in bewilderment and a mutual _Do You Have Any Clue As To What the Hell Is Happening Here?_ expression. He came back in whistling. Why was Brock so damn happy? The door opened and took long strides toward the pair and placed a dossier in their laps. He sauntered back to his desk and stood before them.

“Here’s how this is going to work,'' he explained calmly as the two women read over the paperwork he handled them. “You’re both going to America," jabbing a finger toward Eve. " _You_ as a former British citizen who is no longer welcome here and _you_ , Sanchez, as her temporary bodyguard.

Eve had half-expected/half-hoped for this outcome, but for her part Sanchez was totally rocked back on her heels.

“I...I can’t go, sir.”

“Really, Agent Sanchez? Why is that?”

“I...I don’t know, sir,” she replied. “It seems being associated with Miss Park is making me a pariah within MI6. Everyone is looking at me weirdly.”

“Welcome to my world, Agent Sanchez,” Brock replied. “The sad reality is nobody likes the cop who watches the other cops and holds them accountable when they screw up or sleep with the enemy. You’re going to have a grow a thicker skin if you have any hope of advancing your career beyond its current sorry state.”

“Because you _are_ going to accompany Eve to America and you _are_ going to make sure nobody sneaks up behind her and blows her brains out and don’t think for a second you have anything remotely resembling a choice here. Well, no choice besides doing as instructed or being fired on the spot and escorted out of the building _after_ you’ve been debriefed for a week or two.”

Eve said nothing but she looked at Sanchez who was biting her lip and twisting her hands in her lap.

“I have been informed that you have the makings of an excellent field agent, Sanchez,” Brock said as he reclined in his chair, “Yet, so far I am thoroughly unimpressed in what I have observed thus far besides shooting Mr. Polastri to death.”

“Yes sir. I’m sorry for my impertinence, sir.” Sanchez murmured. 

“I'm sorry for it too. Will there be anything else, Agent Sanchez?” Brock said as he took a bite of his croissant. “Do you have any other questions you need answered?”

“No sir,” she said.

“Splendid,” Brock replied and he brushed a few crumbs off his suit. “Mr. Hathaway told you that you were on The Shit List and alas, you are. Failure to report important information to your supervisors is a serious lapse in judgment and this is how you get off the Shit List, Agent Sanchez. cock this up and you’d better stay in America. Is this clear?”

“Yes sir.” Sanchez was now certain she had either broken seven mirrors or been cursed by a witch. Nothing else could explain her shitty run of luck. 

“Pamela has all the paperwork and other relevant information and forms,” Brock said gesturing to the door. “By the time you get everything signed off on, I will be finished with my little chat with Miss Park. I would advise you to pack enough for a month-long stay. You will be leaving this Friday morning.”

_“Friday?”_ Eve echoed. “Don’t you need me to testify against Carolyn during her trial?” 

“Agent Sanchez, let us have the room, please,” he responded as he took a slurp of his coffee.

“Yes sir” she said robotically and stood and exited the room. As soon as the door closed, Brock stood up and settled into the vacated chair. “May I be brutally honest with you, Eve?"

“No reason you should stop now, Brock.” she replied coldly. “What the fuck are you pulling here?”

“Trying to keep you alive. God knows why.” he said. “You’re flying out tonight. You can’t wait for the weekend.”

“Why? What’s got you so jumpy, Brock?” Eve asked. “Are you trying to tell me something, because if you are, I wish you would just say it.” 

He sighed. “There is a credible threat to your life. I cannot guarantee your safety, so rather than risk it, I am moving you now before later becomes too late. Things are too serious for that.”

There was no sound in the room as Brock fell silent and Eve rolled this around in her brain.

“Is it coming from inside MI6, Mr. Brock?”

“Yes.” 

"Well, if that's how it is I guess that means I’m royally fucked," she sneered. "What happened to our deal?"

“You still have a deal, but I won’t mislead you, Eve. The spy game plays for big stakes and breaks every rule in the process. It is a small and insular community and a lot of them in this agency are blaming you for the deaths of three of their colleagues and taking down a legendary and iconic agent.”

“What? That’s crazy!” Eve said angrily. “Carolyn was fucking evil and she sent Mason to kill both of us. How am I to be blamed for that?”

“Here's how: Bill Pargrave. Frank Haleton. Nigel Mason. Two of them slain by Villanelle and you connected in both and you blew the brains out of a rogue agent who has turned out to be more popular than I would have guessed.” the senior agent replied. “Finally, you assisted in the takedown of the Almighty Carolyn Martens. That didn't win you many fans and if they knew what you almost did to Kenny, they might burn you at the stake.”

She bit her lip. Finally, the bill had come due for her shady deals with the devils over the past year and the debt collectors literally wanted their payment in blood. 

“And here’s what makes this even worse. Every one of the MI6 agents has friends. Friends in other British intelligence agencies. Friends in Interpol. Friends in the FBI, CIA and NSA. Friends in Russian, Israeli, Iranian, North Korean and Saudi intelligence, to name just a few and they talk to each other. Not necessarily swapping information or disinformation if those in upper management wants the other agencies to think a particular untrue thing is true.”

“The best way I can explain this to you is if ‘Eve Polastri’ was trending on social media the way it is on tradecraft media, you’d be extremely popular. Instead you are notorious and everyone who is learning your name is pretty much convinced you are a lying, bisexual traitor and murderer who should be put down with two behind the ear.”

Eve stared down at her hands. They were trembling. “What does this mean, Mr. Brock?”

“It means you have to run, Eve."

With sympathy in his voice, Brock explained, “Forget about the concepts of home and friendship and maybe love . That no longer exists for you. Buy a home and they will burn it down with you in it. Make a friend and they will kill that friend. Fall in love with anyone not named Oksana Astankova and they will bury them in the same hole they bury you in. But first they will make you watch”

“How can I get out of this? " she said licking her suddenly dry lips. "Who's going to kill me first? The Twelve or MI6? It sure as shit seems both of them want to see me six feet under."

Brock looked directly into Eve’s eyes and responded, “I’d be surprised---shocked, actually---if you make it two years and that’s betting on the over, not the under. You and Villanelle make a rather formidable duo, but that won’t make you bulletproof. You have to bet that you are going to be stronger, faster, more skillful, and better at saving your life than the other side is at taking it.”

Eve saw the conundrum. IF Villanelle had her back ( _and that was a big if since the last time she had her back it was by shooting her in it_ ) they could fight off 100 armed men. But what about the next 100? They had to get it right _every_ time. All the other side had to do was get it right once. Also, Villanelle might be out of the Saving Eve business. 

“That’s a pretty bad bet, Brock,” she said, “But I do appreciate you being honest about it. I guess I’ll have to take my chances. It’s too late to turn back now and there’s nothing to turn back to.”

The veteran agent looked thoughtful and fell silent for a moment. Then he said, “Restless souls make for good spies. They have a lot on their mind and munching grass along with the rest of the herd isn’t how they are wired.. When you can reign in their restlessness and train and channel that energy in productive ways, you have an excellent agent that you can turn loose on your enemies and terrorize them to the ends of the earth”. 

“You are someone who thinks they are the smartest person in the room. Well, congratulations, Eve because you are often are. You’re smart, you see the threads that connect where others don’t see them at all. You are formidable, driven when you are focused and relentless until you find what you are in pursuit of.”

Eve didn't try to contain her scorn. "I feel a ‘but’ coming on here,” she said.

“BUT your lack of respect or regard for rules, ethics or morals makes you highly untrustworthy. You say exactly what you think others want to hear without meaning a word of it. You lack empathy, Eve. Like Villanelle, you are a narcissist and a narcissist is the worst manifestation of someone who has no regard for the feelings or thoughts of others. You proved that time and again with Bill and Kenny and Hugo and Nico or is it simply a coincidence the ones whom you shit on most frequently are men, Eve?”

“I have empathy, Brock.” Eve yawned. “If anything I care too much about what other people think.”

Brock shook his head, “No, you really don’t Eve. You may have convinced yourself you do, but your offensive actions speak far louder than your defensive words. That’s why MI6 wants to be rid of you. At least with Carolyn she did some good before she went bad. You? You left a trail of bodies from London to Russia to Rome with your insane pursuit of a bloody assassin. That is why _nobody_ will work with you. Nobody trusts you. They’re too afraid of ending up dead like Bill or almost dead like Hugo.”

Eve didn’t bat an eyelash as she tossed the folder aside. “Thanks for the amateur psychoanalysis. What happens next?”

Brock stood up and walked back to his desk. “What happens next is it will be announced Martens is retiring to spend more time with her family and all that rubbish, when in reality she will be an unwilling guest of intelligence agencies from Britain, France, United States, China and Israel to name but a few of the countries that want their turn with her. She will be interrogated until she we know everything she did with and for The Twelve and I mean everything. The Twelve may not even be the biggest threat to this nation, but they have operated with unmatched impunity in the dark and infiltrated security agencies all over the world. This is bigger than just Britain now, which means Carolyn is going to help us drag them in the light whether she wants to or not."

The picture was coming into focus and Eve knew she wasn't going to get Carolyn's severed head served up on a silver platter. All she was getting was a big shit sandwich. She folded her arms as a wave of frustration and disgust washed over her. There was bitterness in Eve's voice when she snarled, "This isn't about MI6 digging into Carolyn's dirty, stinking laundry, is it Mr. Brock?"

"This is all an exercise in ass-covering, right? What a fucking joke. There's the proof Villanelle was right when she told me that if you go high enough you'll find we both work for the same fucking assholes. What Carolyn did goes too far up and makes all the right people look bad. Better to throw me to the wolves than that of the director of British intelligence or the Prime Minister of the House of Commons or the royal family, right? Right, Mr. Brock?"

Brock fell silent and then cleared his throat. 

“There will be no trial for treason. Carolyn knows far too much about far too many people and things we do not want to become common knowledge. Believe me she has made it quite clear she knows where the bodies are buried and will feel no reluctance to name names of those who would prefer those graves go undisturbed. It's not prison, but Carolyn will be watched, monitored and supervised by MI6 for the rest of her miserable life. If she scratches her ass in the middle of the night, there will be someone there to make a note of it.”

“Sounds lovely, “ Eve sneered. “And while she gets to keep her home, her pension, and her influential friends who are scared shitless she might give up their secrets, I lose everything and then I’m kicked out of my native country on my ass. Yeah, that seems fair.”

“Nothing about this is fair. This is about keeping secrets." Brock replied. "You’re a big girl now, Eve. What do you think we do here? Save the world?” 

Eve had had enough of sanctimonious men like Brock and their delusion they were qualified to pick through her life and decide what was good for her and what was bad. Her father and Nico had already done that and here she was now the proof of how well it worked. 

_Until Villanelle._ She wavered between a murderous hate and burning love for Villanelle, but there was only one person who would make her decisions now and she wasn’t going to transfer authority over from dead men to a living woman. Not even Villanelle was worth surrendering what she had won back. As long as everyone kept underestimating Eve she realized it was how she’d win in the end. Eve is too nice. Too meek. Too scatter-brained and disorganized. Too dependent on someone else to tell her what to do and how she should conduct herself. Even Villanelle had led Eve around on a leash as eager to please puppy. 

_Good. Let her keep thinking that. Let them all keep thinking that._

Eve never wanted to be like Villanelle. She was built like a supermodel with her fair skin and long blonde locks. Eve was short, thin, and dressed like she bought everything from a second-hand store. Villanelle was trained to kill with poisons, knives, guns, rifles, explosives, her bare hands, and probably a nuclear weapon if she had one in her designer bag. Eve was too old, too weak, too mature, too Asian, too everything to delude herself she could copy a trained assassin nearly half her age. 

Since being like Villanelle would be hopeless, she would pursue a different course instead. She’d just be Eve. An Eve no one was prepared for because they were blissfully unaware of the threat she poised. An Eve no one could protect themselves from because they would only see their projection of her instead of the unanticipated force and fury she now was. 

She was Eve. _Finally_. 

Nobody would see it coming because no one was even looking out for it. Eve Polastri? Easy kill. Dead meat. What might keep her alive was using her racial invisibility to her advantage. Nobody had seen The Ghost coming either and how long had that worked in her favor until another overlooked and Asian woman had tracked her down?

Maybe Eve should have emulated The Ghost before Villanelle. She would think about that. All the way to America to track down the ever elusive Russian assassin. Whatever happened after that would happen. No point in overthinking it. The time had passed for her to care about meeting anyone’s expectations beyond her own. 

“Well, I’d guess I better get back to the safe house and pack if I’m going to be flying out tonight.”

“Yes, but you won’t be flying from Heathrow. It’s too busy and too many things could go wrong. You’ll be transported to a military base and leave from there. By the time you get back to the safehouse your things will already be packed and ready.”

She nodded affirmatively. “I guess you’ve covered all the bases, Mr. Brock.”

“Not quite, Eve, he said as there was a knock at the door, “Come in, Pamela.” The tall woman entered the room and handed a folder and an envelope to Brock. She gave him a slight smile and he returned it with an affectionate squeeze of her hand as she passed the materials over.

“Eve, may I introduce my wife, Pamela Brock.” Mrs. Brock glanced at Eve and said, “Hello, Miss Park. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” though her clipped tone made it obvious it was anything but a pleasure.

“Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Brock,” Eve said with a radiant and equally fraudulent grin. .

“Thank you, dear. I’ll be ready in a few minutes” She gave him a little wave and then disappeared from the room as the door clicked shut behind her.

“Your wife is lovely, Brock. Too bad she hates my guts.”

“Well, that’s to be expected," he chuckled. "Everybody else does too, but you did save my life, so Pamela can’t entirely hate you, Mostly, will have to do.” Brock snickered again and flipped through the folder and began to separate the paperwork into two neat stacks.

"What's all this?" Eve inquired.

“The documents on the right will require your signature and I regret as your surname is still ‘Polastri’ that is how you will have to sign them. There is a legally binding non-disclosure agreement barring you from speaking or writing on any of your work with MI6 and MI5 There are several other documents you are required to sign prior to your dismissal from government service”

“Yeah, sure,” Eve said glumly. “Whatever you need. I just want to get out of here.”

“The documents on your left include your new passport, identification and other paperwork you will need to enter the United States,'' Brock said. “You will need this as well.” 

He handed the envelope to Eve who looked at it curiously, then ripped it open. She stared down at two credit cards under the name of “Eve Park” and large denominations of American dollars. 

“What’s this, Brock?”

“I have a budget for my office, Miss Park and along with that budget I have access to---shall we say---funding for discretionary spending. You have $20,000 in cash and another $280,000 in a savings account opened for you under the name of the banking institution that issued your credit cards.”

Eve sat bolt upright in the chair and said, “Holy shit. _$300,0000?”_

“Think of it as your severance pay, Eve. If you have to run, at least now you have some funds to run with. I wish I could do more for you, but this is all I can do. I can give you a head start. Oh, and there’s also an update on your Russian friend.”

“What?” Eve said sharply. “Where is she? Do you know?”

“Read the report, Eve.” 

She thumbed through the papers until she found one stamped “Classified” and found some pictures of a nude dead man whose arms and legs were tied to a four-poster bed. His eyes were open and fixed. His chest was neatly carved open and his penis and testicles were stuffed in his mouth. She pointed at the picture and looked up at Brock.

“We can’t say for certain this was done by Villanelle, but this bloke had a background in human trafficking, so whomever did the bastard in made the world a better place now that he’s not part of it anymore,” Brock said in a dry, matter-of-fact tone.

“Cool,” Eve hummed. “Where and when did this happen?”

“He was killed in Las Vegas at the MGM Grand five days ago. A woman matching the general description of the one sitting with him at the blackjack table was seen leaving the hotel in the victim’s Porsche convertible. The witness said she appeared to be loudly laughing as she drove away.” 

_Wonder if she’s staying on the East or West Coast? Hell, for all I know she could be visiting Mickey Mouse at Disneyland_.

“Go ahead and keep that, Miss Park. I’m sure you’ll find it addictive reading. As for me, I have a meeting with the director in 20 minutes and I don’t wish to be late. There seems to be a vacancy on the Russia Desk and apparently my name heads the list of possible replacements for Carolyn.”

“Well, I’m certain you’ll do a great job, Mr. Brock.” Eve replied.

He snorted and waved his hand dismissively. “It's rubbish. I have no interest in the job. It’s forgot someone who will be here long enough to clean up Carolyn’s messes. That’s not me. In fact, while I will listen politely to the Director’s pitch, as soon as he finishes I will hand him my letter of resignation and I will give him 60 days notice before I too, depart.”

"Unfortunately, my impending retirement puts you in a bind as your remaining protectors are few and far between."

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mason is dead and Carolyn’s in jail. Who’s left that wants to kill me?”

“Are you fucking serious, woman? Who _doesn’t_ want to kill you? You think The Twelve have forgiven and forgotten you? You think that half of MI6 doesn’t want you to kill you and the other half wants you to kill yourself? Do you think even Villanelle wants you alive? Her first thought might be to finish what she started in Rome”

That last one stung a bit. Eve had considered that thought but pushed it away as something she didn’t want to think about too hard. Brock got up from the chair and winced a bit, then he approached Eve and extended his hand. She stared blankly for a moment and then shook it. 

"Good luck, Eve," he said as her small hand disappeared within his larger one. When she looked down, pressed into her palm was a piece of paper with handwritten notes.

"I don't understand, Mr. Brock. What..what is this for? Last names? Phone numbers?" she said in evident confusion. Things were moving too fast and Eve was struggling to keep up.

"What is this for?"

"That is the most important thing I can give you. Five names. Five phone numbers. If you have any chance of surviving this, you will use those numbers and _definitely_ use the first one before you approach Villanelle. Please honor this list. Use them judiciously and wisely. These people are the best at what they do and they have kept me alive. They can keep you alive too, Miss Park, but if you even attempt to treat them in the shabby way you have others, they will cut you off at the ankles then you can measure your next drawn breath in minutes."

Eve nodded grimly. "I don't know if I deserve this, but I'll earn it," she replied. "I still have unfinished business with Carolyn Martens, but I'll table that for now."

"Good for you, Eve. You're a good hater. Just don't let that hatred kill you. Feed off it and focus it. "  


Brock patted her on the hand and then twisted the door knob and held it open for her. Wearily, she gave the old man a small smile and stepped in the outer waiting area. Brock made a gesture and Sanchez scurried to get Eve out of MI6 headquarters and back to the safehouse. Brock and his wife locked arms and headed off to their meeting with the director as she slipped his resignation letter in his jacket breast pocket.   
  
  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The flight out of the military base takes off at 2:30 in the morning. Eve and Rosalyn are exhausted before they get on the flight. Seven hours in the air later and an extra 45 minutes of circling the crowded airspace over LaGuardia, they touch down in New York City. Sanchez is running on vapors by the time she retrieves the luggage and hails an Uber to transport the two of them to a midtown hotel. 

The hotel is not fancy, but its clean and not too far from the various sights and sounds of Manhattan. Sanchez is pissed off, jet-lagged, wiped out and wants nothing more than a hot shower and to fall madly into bed to sleep. Eve is giddy, hyped up and ready to rock n’ roll. Sleep is the last thing on her mind.

Checking out Sanchez is close to the first. Eve says she’s going to hit the streets and walk off her excitement. She hasn’t been this close to the action in The City Than Never Sleeps in close to 20 years and sleeping is the last thing she wants to do. _Villanelle is here_. Not in Los Angeles or in Las Vegas or Miami or Washington D.C. or Los Angeles or anywhere else. 

She. Is. **_HERE_ **. Eve cannot see or hear her, but instinctively she knows it is so. Villanelle is close. Close enough to see and hear and smell and touch and taste. 

Eve is distracted and frustrated. Rosalyn is exhausted and frustrated. It seems when MI6 booked their hotel room they neglected to book double beds. There is only a queen-sized that sleeps two. There is also a pull-out inside the sofa, but the mattress is thin and worn and looks horribly uncomfortable. 

“Damn my luck” Sanchez groans. _Bless my luck,_ Eve smirks. 

Miss Park is dog-tired and sleepy. Miss Park is wired and hungry. One insists while the other resists.

“Fine,” Eve squawks. “I’ll go get a slice of pizza or something. You go ahead and go to sleep, Sanchez.”

“Like hell, Eve!” Rosalyn snaps. “I’m your bodyguard. We can grab something for dinner, but after that it’s back to the room and we’re in for the night.”

“Deal,” Eve smiles. This couldn’t be going better if she had planned it that way. Eve changes into a black crop top, a leather jacket and jeans. Sanchez is too beat to do anything more than to trade her flats in for some cross-trainer sneakers.

Three hours later, Sanchez is ready to fall off her feet. Eve is a little beat, but far from sleepy. She has some plans for the night and they don’t include putting on pajamas she doesn’t have, pulling the covers up to her chin and saying “nighty-nite.” She’s purchased a half-dozen mixed drinks for Sanchez and tipped the bartender to make them a little stronger than usual. Meanwhile, Eve was making pleasant conversation between sips of chardonnay.

When they unpile from the Lyft as it pulls to a stop in front of the hotel, Sanchez is almost stumbling into the lobby to the elevators. She's certainly a lot happier than she was when they left. She's leaning on the smaller woman for support. Eve's not smashed, but she isn’t at the top of her game either. She's not so far gone though as to she's forget she's playing a game.

“Ugh. I stink,” Sanchez rasps as Eve slides her key card in the door. 

“Yeah, you’re a little ripe, Roz,” Eve says sympathetically. “If you want, I can wash your hair for you.” This last part she says a little too eagerly and Sanchez catches it.

“Yeah---no.” she says suspiciously. “I got this. Worry about your own hair, Eve.”

“Okay, suit yourself,” Eve shrugs. “I was only trying to be helpful. Don't slip in the shower."

Fifteen minutes later, Rosalyn Sanchez is standing under the shower resting her hands on the wall as warm water runs down her back. She's swaying slightly on her feet when Eve breezes into the bathroom. 

“Hey, I knocked,” she says brightly, “I needed to brush my teeth before I hit the hay. You okay, Sanchez?”

Sanchez can barely muster the energy to reply. “ _Mmmmmm? What'chu say?_ ” 

Eve sees her opening and goes for it, “Here, Rosalyn, Let me wash your hair.” Sanchez only shakes her head in response, but whether in the affirmative or the negative she won’t recall the next morning. Eve picks up the complementary tube of shampoo, strips off her underwear and steps into the shower. 

Sanchez doesn’t protest as the other woman enters the shower. Sanchez doesn’t decline as Eve begins to lather up her hands with soap and begins to wash her. She purrs like a kitten as Eve massages shampoo into her scalp and presses her naked body up against her. She doesn’t resist as Eve rinses the shampoo from her long, curly hair and turns her around until they are face-to-face.

“God, you are so beautiful,” Sanchez whispers and begins to run her fingers through Eve’s wet, tangled hair. 

“So are you, Roz.” Eve says as she strokes one hand up and down Sanchez’s back as she pulls her closer to her lips. Eve kisses Sanchez. Lightly on the face and cheeks, flicks her tongue up and down her neck and bites on her shoulder. Eve turns her mouth and begins to kiss and suck on Sanchez’s neck.

“Oooooh,” Sanchez whispers and her eyes close tightly. “Don’t stop. That feels so good.”

“Oh, I can make you feel a _lot_ better than that.” and Eve dips her head to run her tongue over Sanchez’s left nipple as it begins to harden and swell under her assault. She cups her hands around Sanchez’s ass and pulls her in close as their mouths meet, open and their tongues begin to meet and swirl around in a sensual dance. What Eve lacks in experience she makes up for in enthusiasm. She has never made love to a woman before, but she has given a lot of thought to how she would when the moment arrived. 

Rosalyn is not Oksana. Not even close. But Eve says out loud what she’s been thinking for months and months.

“I need the practice.”

Sanchez doesn’t protest or put up a fight. She’s tired, but she’s not so tired her body isn’t responding to Eve’s gentle kisses and firm stroking of her nipples and ass. Even when Eve leads her out of the shower and wraps her in one towel to dry her body and another to dry her hair it feels good. Good in a way it doesn’t feel when her supposed boyfriend goes through the motions of foreplay before he sticks his dick between her legs and relentlessly humps away. 

This feels... _nice_. It comes as a surprise to them both when she reaches out for Eve’s face and pulls it close to her own as she kisses back the woman she is protecting with an enthusiasm neither was expecting. 

“Let me dry your hair, Rosalyn and then I’ll tuck you in for the night.”

Sanchez tries to speak, but only a weak whimper came out. In response, Eve pulls her close and kisses her lightly on the cheek, followed by the lips. She is gentle, but the headiness of her heated passion and the alcohol buzz has the Latina agent dazed.

Eve...I don’t...I’ve never done this before.” she said as her voice trembled. “I don’t know what to do.”

The former agent took the current one’s face and pressed her forehead against Sanchez’s. Eve smiled and slowly pressed their lips together.

“I haven’t either, Rosalyn, but I’ve thought about it plenty” she whispered. “Let’s learn together.”

“D--deal,” the younger woman replied shakily. For the next 90 minutes the two women set aside words and speak in a body language only one woman can speak to another. 

Throughout the night Sanchez calls Eve by name. Whether via a whisper or a moan or a scream, she calls for Eve, but she does not do so in return. Eve coos Sanchez is a “baby” or a “sweetheart” or “darling” or “sexy,” but never does she call her by any variation of her first name. In Eve’s mind it was Rosalyn's warm flesh under her, but it wasn't Rosalyn she was making slow love to anymore that it had been with Nico or Hugo. 

It was Villanelle under her and in her and all over her. _Only_ Villanelle. _Always_ Villanelle. 

Because that's how obsessions works and the next day's sun would rise high in the morning sky before the women would speak again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end.
> 
> Or it _would have_ except it occurred to me there was something missing. The denouement. A finishing stroke. A culminating conclusion and resolution.
> 
> What happened next after Eve and Villanelle reconnected in New York? Was it a reunion leading to a reconciliation or something that fell short?
> 
> Can a disgraced former MI6 agent and a hunted assassin really get past their numerous issues, like trying to kill each other, and come together before forces aligning against them do it for them?
> 
> There's one more sin before the end.


	13. The Last Taste of Sin:  It All Adds Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where it all ends. This is where it begins.
> 
> I alternate between "Villanelle" and "Oksana" because only Eve is allowed to call her by that name. To the rest of the world, she is Villanelle. Don't make the mistake of presuming you have the privileges Eve earned. 
> 
> That would be rude. Villanelle doesn't like rude people. Not even a tiny bit.

_\--------------------------------------------------------------_ **Prelude** _\-----------------------------------------------------------_

_Hello. My name is Eve. It is not short for “Evelyn” so please don’t call me anything but “Eve.” I married into the last name of “Polastri.” My husband is dead, but even if he wasn’t, my last name would still be “Park.” I do not answer to anything but that surname now._

_Not that anyone is calling me much of anything but a traitor and a faithless wife and a madwoman. I’m not sure I can disagree with any of those descriptors._

_I’m leaving England for America. That’s where my beautiful, twisted, murderous girlfriend is hiding out. Well, maybe not, but I will find out._

_The night I left London was a six-to-seven-hour flight to New York. My companion was a reluctant, but resourceful MI6 agent. Watching my back wasn’t a job she wanted, but she had been ordered to do. I like her and I think she’s starting to like me._

_She’s no Villanelle though._

_I remember the last words which passed between us. The last words I heard as the bullet passed through my back and out my abdomen. They are branded in my memory._

_-It's just the birds._

_-We're fine._

**_-You have a gun?_ **

_-Yeah._

**_\- Since when?_ **

_\- It doesn't matter._

_-_ **_Why didn't you -_ **

_-Hm?_

_-_ **_Why didn't you shoot Raymond?_ **

_-You had it under control._

_-_ **_No, I...You wanted me to do it._ **

_-I wanted you to know how it feels. How did it feel?_

**_-Wet._ **

_-I'm proud of you._

_-_ **_Proud?_ **

_\- Yes! We're safe now. You made us safe._

_-_ **_What do you mean?_ **

_\- Well, after today, people will be angry._

_\--But we can look after ourselves now, can't we?_

_-I_ **_'m going home._ **

_\- What?_

_-_ **_I've got to go home._ **

_\- Eve, you can't go home._

_-_ **_Yes, I can._ **

_\- We need to talk._

_-_ **_No._ **

_-You're ruining the moment._

_-_ **_What do you think is happening here?_ **

_-What? I think we'd--_

**_-You think we'd be, what? Bonnie and Clyde? Just go on a killing spree? - Cut a few throats?_ **

_\- Stop it._

**_-You want me to be a mess._ **

**_-You want me to be scared._ **

**_-But I'm like you now._ **

**_-I'm not afraid of anything._ **

**_\- This is what you wanted._ **

_\- This is what you wanted! This is what you wanted._

_-No, Eve._

_-Eve, wait._

_-Why are you being like this? You love me._

**_-No._ **

_\- I love you._

**_\- No._ **

_-I do._

**_\- You don't understand what that is._ **

_\- I do._

_-You're mine._

**_\- No._ **

_\- You are! You're mine! Eve! I thought you were special._

**_-I'm sorry to disappoint._ **

_Then pain. Blinding searing pain. Falling. Impact. Then coldness. Then darkness._

_Then nothingness._

_That’s where it ended._

_It’s not how it ends._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

_In each of us there is another we do not know. Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of other people. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious. The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely. Your visions will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes._

_—_ **_Carl Jung_ **

**MANHATTAN - ONE YEAR AFTER ROME**

Following their unexpected reunion in New York, Eve and Villanelle fall into a fragile, but manageable detente. The morning after a particularly raucous night of mind-blowing, toe-curling, sheet-tearing sex, Eve wakes up to the now-familiar sight of Villanelle’s bare arms draped over Eve’s equally bare breasts and snoring peacefully with her face buried in Eve’s shoulder and hair. 

It typically takes five minutes to push and roll Villanelle off her so she can scurry to the bathroom and release her bladder. This makes Villanelle grumpy, but it is preferable to wetting the sheets with something grosser than perspiration and cum. 

Though they spend nearly every night together when Villanelle is not “away on business” they don’t move in together. Villanelle wants her to, but Eve says after 15 years with Nico she needs a little free space for herself. 

What she doesn’t say is she would like nothing better than to try to live with Villanelle, but she isn’t certain they have gotten past trying to kill each other. Until she is, it’s best not to rush these things along. 

They don’t talk that much. When they do talk, it is never about anything too difficult. They don’t talk about shooting and stabbing each other. They don’t talk about Paris or Rome except in generalities, never specifics.

They don’t talk about how much Villanelle misses Konstantin or how much Eve despises Carolyn. They don’t talk about Nico because Eve doesn’t want to yet. She will tell Villanelle when she’s ready to and she’s not ready to. 

They don’t talk about whether The Twelve wants Villanelle dead more than MI6 wants Eve dead. They don’t talk about the night they first met and after coming out of the loo how Villanelle was so flustered by the encounter she neglected to wash her hands which means she slaughtered four people with dirty hands. 

They don’t talk about how Raymond had it coming and how Mason had it coming and how Nico didn’t have it coming until he did and then he deserved it too. They don’t talk about how bored Villanelle is with the hits she pulls today because the victims are scumbags and so are the guys who pay her to do the hits. 

They don’t talk about what’s next because they don’t know what’s next. Eve can see how restless Villanelle is. She likes America, but she loves Europe and she wants to go back. Soon. Eve is less eager, but figures if she never steps foot in England again it will be too soon and there’s nobody she wants to see there anyway. Not even Elena whom by now likely have found out the terrible thing Eve did to Kenny. Maybe she doesn’t know yet, but why take the chance of ringing her up to find out she had?

Nothing good could come from it, so Eve lets sleeping dogs and past friends lie. 

Villanelle wants to pick Eve’s brain for more details on how she felt after splattering Mason’s all over the walls, but she doesn’t press the issue. She is a little disappointed in how Eve’s eyes didn’t light up with an evil ecstasy recalling how his head disintegrated when the bullet hit the bone. Did any of the blood spray on Eve? What did it smell like? How did it taste? 

These are the sort of things Villanelle would like to know in graphic detail because it would give her a better fix on whether Eve is losing her squeamishness over murder, but she will give the older woman a little more time to embrace her new reality. Patience is not a virtue the younger woman is familiar with, but she loves Eve, so she will learn how to fake it. 

They won’t discuss their vicious, violent past. They don’t know if they have anything remotely resembling a future. All that leaves is the now. 

“Eve?” 

“Hmmm?” comes Eve’s reply her nose burrowed in a book. “What’s up?”

Villanelle is sitting up in bed and is, of course, naked as the day she was born. Normally, she would planning on which way next she would be ravishing Eve, but she has been lost in her own thoughts not wanting to be a distraction, but she has been sitting on this thought for a while and now seems a perfect time to share.

“What’s your thoughts on how much longer we can run?”

Eve stops reading, folds the corner of the page to mark her place, and closes the book. She shifts and nestles against the blonde’s right arm. “Why do you ask, Oksana?”

The reply comes in the way of a sigh as Villanelle shrugs her shoulders. 

“It seemed like a legitimate question to ask, so I’m asking,” she replies in a soft monotone. “How long, Eve?”

Eve looks up into those green eyes that see everything but reveal nothing in the moment. It makes her feel uneasy.

“I don’t know, baby. Until we are sure there’s nobody coming for us. That’s why we keep changing hotels regularly, right? You agreed it was a good idea not to stay in one place too long.” 

Villanelle nods her head slowly, but still isn’t making eye contact until Eve reaches up and caresses her face. 

“Is there something wrong? Are you worried The Twelve or MI6 are going to find us?”

“It would be stupid to think they are not looking for us, Eve. I told you when we killed Raymond how people would be angry at us. I have no reason to believe they no longer are. We have money and we can run for a long time. America is a big country with lots of places where we can get lost, but eventually we will be found.”

“That’s true, Oksana, but when we get tired of the U.S., there’s still Canada, Mexico and South America. With your skills, there will be work wherever you go.”

Villanelle looked confused and replied, “Don’t you mean wherever _we_ go?”

“Sure, I do, but if I can’t keep up with you, you should cut me loose. I will not be the cause for your death, Oksana. Of that, I promise you.”

Her next words were smothered under the Russian’s passionate kisses.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Impeccably dressed in a white shirt, black trousers and waistcoat, Villanelle hummed happily as she scanned the high ceiling, Art Deco style of Eleven Madison Park, perhaps the finest restaurant in New York. She had made the lunch reservations three weeks ago as she was famished for the promise of some truly exquisite European-inspired cuisine.

Right now, she was doing her best to ignore the older woman (even older than Eve), who was eye-fucking her as she admired the way her styish garb so nicely complimented her flawless figure. By comparison, Eve was wearing a simple blue suit and skirt that fit nicely, but paled in comparison to her companion’s attire.

This thoroughly pleased the slightly sadistic, and seriously petty side of Villanelle who found a gleeful thrill in reminding Eve yet again how she would always be the caterpillar to her butterfly. 

“I am amazing,” Villanelle said nudging Eve in the ribs with an elbow. “I don’t even look my best and these women and men have been undressing me with their eyes since I walked in.”

“Don’t you mean since _we_ walked in, Oksana?” Eve sighed. She would have liked to scan the menu for lunch, but this restaurant didn’t have a conventional menu where you ordered what you want. Instead there was a “tasting menu” of seven courses served over three hours at the price of $295 per person. 

Eve was not fond of this side of Oksana. The constant need to show off her money and demonstrate that price was no object and she could excite people by simply walking into the room made her feel small and inadequate. 

It also made her feel like a possession of Villanelle. Not a partner or equal. She had done so much to make herself one, but all it took was one lunch in a pretentious shithole like this to wipe it all away like fog on a mirror. She didn’t want to resent Villanelle for it, but it annoyed her nevertheless. 

The ex-MI6 agent muttered, “For fuck’s sake. This is ridiculous. I’d rather be in Times Square, grab a few slices of pizza and be done with it. All these pretty people with their face-lifts and plastic boobs make my ass itch.”

Ignoring her companion's complaint, Villanelle grinned, “No. **_I_ ** look magnificent, Eve. You look---acceptable.” She giggled and swallowed the remainder of a $141 Southern Rhône Valley grenache. 

“It’s not just disgusting how you flaunt your riches, Oksana,” Eve said grumpily, “It’s vulgar. This whole place is vulgar.”

Villanelle took a little sadistic glee in her companion’s discomfort. She enjoyed reminding Eve who held the power in this relationship and who was the leader and whom was the led. She had lost some of her control when Eve had shown up unexpectedly and armed in her townhouse, but she was wrestling it back. 

“Evie, I had _no_ idea you were such a proletariat,” she said with a malicious giggle. 

“I’m not. I just don’t need to show off for assholes who wouldn’t piss on me if I were on fire.” Eve replied not bothering to conceal her disdain for the ostentatious show the assassin was putting on. “Spending more on a meal than some people spend on their rent is not a sign of good taste or class. It’s all sewage in 24 hours, so it’s just gross.”

"And don't call me, 'Evie.' " she snapped. 

Villanelle stared coldly at Eve before responding, “If you do not like the places I take you, you are free to go.” 

“Good idea,” Eve nodded as she dropped her napkin on the table. Before she could push her seat back the older woman who positively exuded even older money, strode purposefully to the table and placed a gloved hand between the two women. She gazed longingly at Villanelle while ignoring Eve entirely. 

“Pardon me, miss,” she crooned, “Your outfit is simply divine. Is it Tom Cole?”

“Ermenegildo Zegna, fall collection,” Villanelle said smiling and clearly enjoying the old hag's bumbling attempt at being flirtatious. The assassin had already picked up on the sapphic motivation behind it, not that she had any intention of acting on it. She already had Eve and what could this bag of flesh and Botox possibly have to offer to replace what was already hers?

Still, it was good to remind Eve every now and then who was the object of so many fantasies. She should be grateful to be with Villanelle. This was an opportunity to remind Eve how lucky she was and why she should appreciate how Villanelle had plucked her from her dull, drab and colorless existence and a pathetic future of missionary sex and shepherd's pie. 

Perhaps had she been paying attention Villanelle, would have noticed she was misreading Eve’s mood. The young woman was operating on outdated information about Eve, because this version wasn’t jealous or threatened. She was pissed.

“Excuse me, miss, but we were kind of in the middle of something here.” Villanelle caught the sharp edge in Eve’s quiet voice, but the interloper missed it entirely. This would prove to be a mistake.

“Oh!. Oh, pardon me. I didn’t notice you, dear.” the Botoxed woman said in a voice dripping in condescending disdain. “Are you the nanny or a domestic?” Before Eve could respond, the other woman turned back to Villanelle. “It is SO hard to find women of color who are willing to work for a living. Most of them seem to prefer low-wage positions, collecting welfare and making babies. She is a gem! Her English is flawless! Wherever did you find her?”

There was a loud squeak as Eve pushed her chair back and tapped the woman on the shoulder.

  
“Hey, bitch.”

The woman's head snapped around as though she had been physically struck. Other diners in the room began to look away from their drinks and meals to notice the spectacle taking place. Villanelle pondered briefly asking Eve to calm down, but before she could speak, Eve threw an icy stare at her and the words froze unspoken in her mouth.

“I am not the nanny or the maid or the little Asian concubine either. I’m not the hired help. I am her lover and she is mine. Got that? She is **MINE** and there’s no room for an old dried-up hump like you so kindly fuck off while I’m in still in a mood to let you, you racist-ass old whore.”

The woman’s mouth widened in a stupefied “o” and her jaw worked, but nothing came out. 

“Did you hear me the first time or do I need to repeat myself with a few more obscenities?”

“Eve...please. Do not get excited,” Villanelle said slowly. “This is not that big of a deal. She was just complimenting my suit.”

“Oh, eat a dick, Villanelle,” Eve muttered in a low, chilling voice. “Don’t tell me not to get excited. Stop rubbing my nose in your phony aristocratic bullshit. Stop telling me not to raise my voice when some old cunt comes sniffing around yours hoping to catch a whiff. I’m not your little Geisha girl and you can’t treat me like I am.”

The older woman physically flinched and scurried away like a frightened mouse. “Sorry...sorry!” 

“Why are you still here? Disappear!” 

_“EVE!!_ ” Villanelle shrieked in dismayed shock. “You are embarrassing me!” 

Eve smashed her fist on the table as the wine glasses tumbled to the floor.

“FUCK YOU! You treat me like the hired help and I’m supposed to say, ‘Thank you, mistress, may I have another?’ You don’t get to treat me like dogshit under your designer shoes, Villanelle. Not today and not ever.” 

Before the panicked maître d could demand the pair leave the restaurant, Eve had put her shoulder down and bumped him out of her way. With a yelp, he stumbled backwards as Eve stomped past and out the door.

She vaguely caught Villanelle calling her name, but she didn’t slow down. She pushed the glass doors open and stepped into the afternoon. 

In a panic, Villanelle waved for the waiter to bring the bill, dropped $300 in bills on the table and rushed out as Eve’s form disappeared in the crowd. 

_Why was Eve behaving this way? It made no sense! Had she gone crazy? There was no way she would ever be allowed back in the restaurant. She was owed an explanation for this and dammit Eve was going to give her one._

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Eve!” she called out. “Where are you going? I want to talk to you.” Her lover never broke stride or slowed. She knew Eve could hear her. Why wasn’t she answering?

Villanelle picked up the pace from a fast-walk to a slow trot and trimmed the space between them. When she was close enough, she snaked her way through the crowd and seized Eve’s arm. 

“I said ‘stop’, Eve!” she yelled “Why are you doing this?” This was FAR too similar to the blunder that was Rome for Villanelle’s liking. They still hadn’t talked about what happened there, but she was now of the mind, that talk was overdue.

“Get your goddamn hands OFF me, Villanelle!”

The fact that Eve was calling her “Villanelle” instead of “Oksana” was a clear sign of how furious she was. Her own rage was high, but Eve was volcanic in her fury. It thrilled Villanelle at times, but not this time.

“What is wrong? What did I do, Eve? Talk to me.”

Eve was still boiling mad, but she turned and faced Villanelle. “You want to know? Do you _really_ want to know, Villanelle?”

“Please, Eve. Call me Oksana.”

“No. No, I don’t think I will, Eve replied with a shake of her lush black locks. Villanelle was torn between her total confusion and a yearning to grab and throw Eve to the ground and turn her inside out. But Eve still had blood in her eye and fury in her heart and she could not and would not stop until she spoke clearly and distinctly, "When we are together and you are kind and loving, you are Oksana. When you’re treating me like shit and I’m your property again, you’re Villanelle.” 

Eve flopped down on a bench, burying her face in her hands. She seemed terribly tired and defeated. Cautiously, Villanelle brushed the seat off with a napkin she must have picked up without knowing and joined Eve on the bench but kept a respectful distance.

“Eve, I didn’t mean to hurt you or make you mad at me. Please give me a chance to make it up to you.”

Eve’s curls bounced as she shook her head. “You can’t make this up. You don’t get it and you never will. You’re a blonde White woman. I’m not, and you don’t get what it means for an Asian woman who is never seen by White people. You aren’t even looking at me because I’m fucking invisible to you.”  
  
The young Russian could not have been any more nonplussed if the older Asian had poured premium gas all over her and set them both afire. Villanelle had no reference point to go to upon How to Deal With Your Hot Older Woman When She Freaks the Fuck Out. She was completely in the dark. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you saying I don’t treat you like you’re White?”

Eve almost howled in a startling fury which made Villanelle instinctively flinch back as it preparing to battle. The gap between them was widening. “Oh, for God’s sake, Oksana! How fucking unaware of how shitty you make me feel can you be? How long are you going to act as if you’re too cool to be a bigot?”

“Me? A bigot? Eve, I don’t have a racist bone in my body,” she protested.

“Who the fuck are you? Donald Trump?” Eve scoffed. “Everybody’s got a little bit of a bigot in them, Villanelle. Just because you fuck an Asian woman or a Black man or a Latino woman doesn’t mean you don’t consider yourself better than them. That little show you put on in that dump is all the proof I need.”

“That is not true. That is so unfair!”

“I can’t explain this to you. You can’t understand how I feel.”

With that, Eve stalked away from the young woman who sat there with imploring eyes and utter disbelief.

“Eve! Where are you going?”

Without turning her head, Eve stormed off in exasperation. “Away from you. Do NOT follow me.”

“Eve!” came the wailing cry behind her.

“Leave me alone, Oksana. I’ll see you back at the room. Unless I don’t.”

As those unmistakable curly locks began to disappear into the swirling crowds of the New York afternoon, Villanelle wiped away the tears from her eyes and hurried off to follow her aggravated lover from a distance. Her long legs covered the distance in mere moments.

Had her mind not been in turmoil and her attention diverted, Villanelle might have noticed she was being observed by an onlooker whose eyes narrowed at the domestic dispute. As it was, the moment the young woman trailed after Eve, she too was shadowed.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once Eve had finally chosen a watering hole of her liking and began demanding drinks from the bartender as if Prohibition 2.0 was starting tomorrow, Villanelle slid soundlessly into a booth in the rear where she had a good glimpse of her clearly agitated lover alternating gulps of bourbon with her nervous tic of running her hands through her hair. As badly as Villanelle wanted to sidle up next to her and try to understand why Eve was so angry with her, she decided it was better to keep a watchful eye out. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft vibration of her phone. She glanced at the screen. Unknown number. She ignored the call until the phone stopped buzzing. A weary-looking waitress walked over to Villanelle. “What’cha drinking, honey?”

“A vodka on the rocks. Do not pour me anything from the well. Top-shelf only.”

“It’s your money, honey,” and the waitress sashayed away as Villanelle grunted in response. She didn’t like strangers being overly-familiar with her. “Someone should teach you some manners,” she muttered and in her mood she might be the one to do it. 

The phone buzzed again. The same unknown number appeared again. She ignored it again. 

Eve had drained her glass and waved a hand to catch the bartender’s attention. “Another please, and make it a double” 

Eve wasn’t drunk on her ass yet, but was well on the way there. Villanelle was mulling whether to give the waitress a big enough tip to make certain Eve was put in a taxi because there was no way she would be able to make it on her own to their hotel room. 

A text message popped up. Curious as to who this persistent pest was, Villanelle opened it.

_You ignoring me, bitch?_

Startled, the Russian assassin frowned as a second message appeared. _Pick up the fucking phone, asshole._

This time when the phone buzzed Villanelle snatched it up and snarled, “Who the fuck is this?”

“Watch your mouth unless you want to swallow a bullet, Villanelle. I could blow your brains out and you would be dead before your head hit the table.”

In an amazing display of restraint, Villanelle didn’t smash the phone by throwing it into a wall or spiking it on the floor. Whoever this woman was, by calling her by her code name, she clearly knew who she was. Villanelle would stall until she could discern how close the voice was to pulling off the threat.

  
The red dot of a laser light appeared just above her left breast. “If you like I can shoot you in the heart or the head. Your call, sweetie.”

The dot disappeared when the waitress sauntered back with the drink. “Thank you,” the young woman said politely. “May I have a second one?”

The waitress stared back at the blonde. “Everything okay, honey?” 

“Oh yes,” Villanelle responded brightly. “I’m just talking to my boyfriend and he’s talking really dirty to me,” she said with a little giggle. “I don’t want to trouble you any more than I have to, so if you just bring it to me now, I won’t have to bother you later.” The sweetness of her smile could have caused early onset diabetes. 

“Okay, honey,” she replied with a bored shrug. “No skin off my ass. BRB.” As soon as she turned her back, the dot reappeared right between Villanelle’s eyes.

“ _Shitpissfuck!”_ she groaned in a low voice. “Who are you and what do you want?”

The voice chuckled. “Well, obviously you're not dead--for the moment----so you sit there like a good little psycho killer and I’ll tell you a little story. Do you like stories, Villanelle?” 

Villanelle gulped the vodka down and wiped her lips. “Yes, I do. Tell me a story. But first take this fucking target off me.” The light clicked off. Villanelle glared toward a rooftop across the street where the sniper had set up shop. She did not enjoy being anyone’s target. It was supposed to be the other way around, 

Craning her neck, she looked over at the bar. Eve’s head was propped in her hands. She no longer looked angry. She looked drunk, exhausted and she was sinking fast.

She would keep for the moment. Time to deal with this arrogant sniper first. She thought about dashing out the door and giving chase as the sniper was forced from their perch, running her to ground and breaking her neck, but patience was something she was learning the value of. Eve had been successful in teaching her that much. 

“Who are you, woman?” 

“My name is Rosalyn Sanchez. I’m an MI6 agent and I am Eve’s bodyguard.” 

“ _What?_ That’s bullshit. MI6 is trying to kill Eve. You are no bodyguard. You are an assassin. I’m the only one keeping Eve alive.”

Sanchez howled in laughter and a hot rage surged through Villanelle’s body like grabbing a live wire. 

“Don’t project your shit on me, bitch. I was assigned to protect Eve and that’s what I’ve been doing. Not once, but twice. You aren’t a fucking bodyguard. You’re a psycho assassin. _I’m_ the one who’s been watching Eve’s back. Not you.”

“Bullshit,” Villanelle repeated in a low hiss. “I don’t believe you.”

The phone went silent for a second. Then two texts appeared.

“Open them Villanelle,” Rosalyn taunted. Villanelle snorted and opened the attachment. 

There were two pictures. The first was of a dead woman with a knife jammed deep through her left eye and a second of a man slumped the steering wheel of a car with a massive bullet wound in the side of the head. 

“Friends or family?” Villanelle quipped.

“Neither. The first has been identified as a deep cover GRU agent and the second is an ex-Green Beret trying his hand as a mercenary for hire. I got them before they got to her.”

Villanelle yawned. “Good for you. I bet you got all hot and wet when you killed these two nobodies, but this proves nothing---oh, thank you, ma’am,” Villanelle switched from her Russian-accented English to a perfect California blonde lilt as the waitress returned with her drink.

“You really are a moron, aren’t you, Villanelle? Or do you prefer, ‘Oksana’?” 

“Only Eve can call me that. If I needed any more reason to carve out your liver and feed it to you raw, I have it now. You are a dead woman.”

“Not from where I’m sitting, sweetie. The only reason you are still breathing is Eve doesn’t want you dead. If she did, I would have splattered your empty little head all over the back of that booth. I’d hate to be the one to clean up that mess, but I’d love to be one who made it. You killed two MI6 agents, Villanelle. Nobody’s forgetting that anytime soon.”

At the bar, Eve’s head was resting on her arms and she appeared to be falling asleep. 

“I will deal with you later. Eve needs me now. She is drunk and needs to get back to the hotel.”

“I’ll get her back. You can go fuck yourself.”

“Why are you saying this to me? Don’t you know if you don’t kill me now, I surely will find you later and you will die slow and ugly.”

“God, you are so full of shit. Think for a minute what I just said, Villanelle: A GRU agent and a merc were trying to kill Eve. Not the Twelve or a rogue MI6 agent. Two unrelated killers with no reason to target her. Not unless there was a fat contract on Eve’s head _and there is_.”

Eyes widened in shock and horror and unbidden a little gasp slipped through Villanelle’s lips.”

“Fuck. That means…”

“Yeah, dumb ass. That is _exactly_ what it means. There’s a hit out on Eve and you, Ms. Super Killer Assassin, _didn’t even know it_. The only reason she’s still drawing breath is me.”

Villanelle’s mouth couldn’t have felt any dryer if she had swallowed a glass of sand. This was not good news. In fact, it was terrible news and even she couldn’t keep both of them alive against an army of bounty hunting killers that a global contract would attract like flies to manure.

“Who put the contract on Eve?”

Sanchez sighed. “Not certain, but MI6 is afraid it was Carolyn Martens.”

“I thought she was going to prison or at least in interrogation for the rest of her life.”

“She’s not going to prison, but she’s not entirely free either. However, we suspect there was a kill order to go into effect to take out her enemies if she didn’t cancel it at a certain point. The contract won’t be pulled until she calls off the dogs or Eve is dead. Someone made an attempt on the life of my boss, Ianl Brock and nearly succeeded.”

Villanelle finished her drink in one gulp. Eve was beginning to snore gently as the bartender picked up and washed her empty glass. 

_Eve’s life almost ended, and I didn’t even know it was at risk. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK._

“Villanelle?” Sanchez queried. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. “she replied. All pretense of the cool, collected assassin had vanished. Villanelle could fight and would die for Eve, but she couldn’t protect her if she didn’t know how serious the threat was. Anyone could be trying to murder her. Even now, had Eve merely passed out or could she have been poisoned?

Too many questions. Answers were required. Once Konstantin was the one who could provide them, but he was no longer available. Who was to say Carolyn wasn’t going to have him eliminated as well? If she hadn’t already.

“I need to talk to you, Sanchez.”

“We’re talking now, assassin.” 

“No,” Villanelle said in a hoarse whisper. “We need to talk in person. I have to know how serious this threat is to Eve’s life.”

“ _Riiiiight._ I’m supposed to meet with the psycho bitch who just told me she was going to feed me my own fucking liver. Not. Gonna. Happen.”

“Please, Sanchez. I am asking for your help. I can’t protect Eve from threats I don’t even know exist and I guess you aren’t going to be around forever to watch over her.”

The phone line fell silent. Eve’s snoring got a little louder.

“PLEASE, Sanchez.” The desperation she had elicited from the assassin softened Sanchez's heart a bit. Or perhaps she had gotten a little sadistic kick from fucking with Villanelle's head so successfully. Either way, she relented.

“Okay. I’ll send Eve a text message tomorrow on where to meet. Be there on time or I won’t be there. Show up alone and I won’t be there. Pull anything, Villanelle and I’ll shoot you in the head and you won’t be there. Eve can take her chances with me.”

“You want Eve there too?”

“Duh. You think I’m going to meet _you_ anywhere without back-up? Fuck you, Astankova. You’re crazy as hell. If I had my way, I’d let them shoot you while I save her. Get Eve into a cab and back to the hotel. Don’t go out for dinner. Order in. Oh, and keep the goddamned drapes closed, for fuck’s sake. I saw everything you two freaks did in bed the other night.”

Without so much as a good-bye, the phone line went dead. Villanelle stared at the phone and then slid out of the booth and walked over to where Eve was sleeping. The bartender was glaring at her and weighed whether to shake her awake.

“Don’t,” Villanelle said sharply. “I’ll take care of her. How much do we owe for the drinks and terrific customer service?”

Villanelle settled the tab and left too big of a tip for the surly bartender and bored waitress. She could not have cared less. Eve made a feeble protest when Villanelle hoisted her gently to her feet and walked them out the door to the cab. For some reason a cab seemed a bit less dangerous than an Uber or Lyft. She didn’t feel like sharing a ride with strangers tonight. 

It didn’t seem particularly safe or smart.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning after drinking too much came too early and Eve awoke feelingt like hammered shit. The first rays of the morning sun were streaming through the room. The drapes were wide open. Despite the miserable headache, Eve’s senses weren’t so dulled they didn’t instantly realize something was wrong. 

_Where’s Oksana?_

They were both wanted women. What sort of idiot leaves the curtains open to make it easy for their pursuers to find them and kill them where they stood? They were too smart to be so careless.

_Unless…_

Unless one of them was too damn drunk to care and the other had stopped giving a damn at all?

“Oksana?” 

No answer. Only her side of the bed had been slept in. There was no sign Villanelle was in the room. 

Like at all. Eve didn’t see any of Villanelle’s clothes or shoes. She got up and peered in the walk-in closet. Her side was still neatly arranged and folded and stacked and hanging on wooden hangers. The other side was barren. 

_Did she leave me? No. She wouldn’t do that. Would she?_

Eve wobbled toward the bathroom still dressed in her clothes from the day before. They smelled of bourbon and maybe a little vomit? They were dirty too. Had she fallen down? Come to think of it, how the fuck had she got back to the hotel? 

_Where the hell are you, Oksana?_

Feeling for the wall for support, Eve retreated from the brightness of the bedroom and edged into the bathroom. She relieved herself, flushed and gaped in the mirror at the crazy woman staring back. Her mouth tasted like she sucked on an exhaust pipe and the odor under her pits would have revolted a port-a-potty cleaner. 

_Ugh! Shower time._

Eve slowly stripped off her clothes and underwear then stepped into the hot water-jets of the pulsating shower. When she could raise her arms over her head without passing out from the stink, Eve finally began to feel semi-human again. She began to pour shampoo into her hair and massage it in humming a song which had been stuck in her head.

  
  
Twenty minutes went by before the bathroom door swung open and the naked and dripping wet woman was still humming wordlessly while vigorously rubbing a towel on her hair as she swung the hairdryer by the cord. 

The attack occurred as soon as Eve stepped through the doorway. Two strong arms clasped her shoulders shoving her hard against the door banging Eve’s head against the frosted glass and then black-gloved hands scrambled up her neck and begin to lift and strangle her.

“OKSANA!!!!!” She gasped. Choked. Gasped again. 

The assassin’s face was cast of cold marble utterly devoid of human emotion. Her hair was up in a ponytail. She was wearing a black turtleneck, black jeans, black Doc Martens. She looked like a serious woman about to do something serious. 

Eve’s feet did not touch the floor. She was suspended in the air and against the wall by the deceptively strong fingers of the assassin’s hands. She vainly clawed against Villanelle’s unyielding grasp, unable to pry even one finger loose. Her eyes began to roll up and a rattle shook through her. Eve managed to gasp out a single word.

“ _Why?”_

The soulless glare in Villanelle’s eyes passed and a brief flicker of humanity returned to them.

“You do NOT fuck around on me, Eve. Not now. Not ever. I have gone through too much, lost too much and received so little in return.”

Were it not for the crushing pressure on her windpipe, Eve might have squeaked out, _“What the fuck?”_ Little flashes of light danced behind her fluttering eyes and she began to lose consciousness. Villanelle dropped her to the floor like a sack of potatoes and stepped back as Eve landed hard on her lightly-padded ass.

“Eve, do not make me do something neither of us will be happy with me doing,” she said ignoring Eve’s coughs between whimpers of searing pain, “ _You are mine_ and what is mine I do not share with anyone.”

She reached down and grabbing Eve by her hair pulled her face close to hers. Eve was both terrified by Villanelle’s rage and confused by the tears running down her cheek.

“You are such a beautiful woman and finally the rest of the world is beginning to see what I saw for the first time I laid eyes on you, Eve. Even more, you are finally embracing that beauty as well as your power. You are seeing all it does to other people and what it can do for yourself.”

Villanelle shook Eve like a rag doll. 

“But you cannot be with me and be with anyone else,” she cried. “What you did or who you did it with before me I can forget about. I will not forget when you cheat on me. If it happens again, I will not forgive your either.”

“Oksana, what are you talking about?” Eve said between giant gulps of sweet air. “I’m not screwing around. Who would I screw about _with_ , for Christ’s sake?”

“Rosalyn Sanchez. We met while you were getting stumbling drunk.”

Eve groaned and mentally punched herself in the jaw. She hadn’t lied to Villanelle. She just had forgotten to mention an MI6 agent was still guarding her body. She had done other things to Eve’s body as well, but now probably wasn’t the best time to bring that up.

_Buy time. Talk her down. You can do this. You have to do this, or she just might kill you_.

“Oksana, if you are angry because I slept with Sanchez, you shouldn’t be. It was just sex. Nothing else.”

Villanelle was not placated by Eve’s admission. 

“I do not care if you _think_ I’m stupid, but when you _talk_ to me like I’m stupid, I care about that very much, Eve. Be glad that Rosalyn is leaving soon. Otherwise I might have had to disembowel her and send her back to England in a box. Then I would have killed you. Then I would kill myself.”

Eve stared up at Villanelle. There was nothing behind her cold green eyes. Foolishly she had underestimated the younger woman once again. 

"Now that you have sobered up and bathed---and thank you for doing so---you may have noticed I have packed up my clothes. My bags are in the other room and I have already paid for our stay and checked out. We have a few hours before we can leave. This location is no longer safe."

"What? Why? What happened, Oksana? How do you know we're not safe?" Eve implored. Villanelle looked away from her and ground her teeth.

“You should know there were two assassination attempts made on your life recently and I missed them both. Sanchez stopped them both. There is a contract on your life, Eve. Not enough to interest me, but enough that someone will take it."

Eve was incredulous and the blank look on her face exposed it. “Huh? You’re saying there’s a _hit_ out on me?” She reached for the younger woman, but Villanelle’s cold glare stopped her before Eve could make contact. 

“Yeah. There is. _And I didn’t know._ That’s what fucks with me. I didn’t know!” Eve realized when faced with the exposure of a flaw in her persona of perfection, the assassin couldn’t handle it. The master assassin had missed the warning signs that her lover was to be assassinated. Villanelle reached for the leather jacket she had dropped on the floor, but Eve’s hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist. Both of them were frozen in the moment.

_Oh, Sweet Baby Jesus. Oksana feels guilty! She feels ashamed there was a threat to my life and she didn't save me. Rosalyn did and Oksana doesn't know what to do about it._

Eve mentally filed this revelation away for future reference and said, “Hey! We are _not_ doing this! We have to stop walking out on each other. Okay? I was wrong when I did it to you yesterday. I'm sorry, Oksana! We should be able to talk it out when we have problems. We have to! We can’t keep running away from them.”

Except for her suspicious eyes and trembling lip, Villanelle had no verbal retort, so Eve pressed on. 

"Let's be brave and admit we're scared. Scared what will happen if this doesn't work out. Maybe even more scared if it does." 

Oksana was startled, but she allowed Eve to pull her closer. “No one can come between us, baby. I didn't feel a thing with Rosalyn, you hear me. _Nothing_. Only you can excite me. Only you! I swear it! . We belong together.” Soft lips grazed over Oksana’s neck and shoulders eliciting an involuntary, but pleased sigh. “Please don’t be mad at me. Let’s talk.”

Villanelle almost softened, but she pulled away from Eve. _Hold on to your power. Don't let her make you weak. Focus!_ The voice in her head was not her own, but of Konstantin and she gathered herself and got back on mission. She snatched Eve’s phone off the dresser, powered it on and handed it to the bewildered nude woman. “Check your messages.”

Eve frowned. There was one new message.

_I'll be in your hotel's bar at noon. Don't be late and don't forget to put a muzzle on your dog_.

“We are supposed to meet her in the hotel bar in 30 minutes. Let me get dressed.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve and Villanelle entered the bar as Sanchez was draining the last remnants of a ginger ale. Her back was to the wall and she was keeping a wary eye out for anything that seemed off, though she smiled when she Eve approach with a scowling Villanelle looming directly behind her.

“Rosalyn. It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure.” She rose and wrapped her arms around Eve. In response to their warm greeting, Villanelle’s cold stare became glacial. Sanchez ignored her and sat down with Eve in the middle between them. The symbolism was lost on none of them. 

Eve knew she had to deescalate the situation and said in a scoffing way, “Are you two going to behave yourselves?”

Villanelle said nothing and never took her eyes off Rosalyn, but she slowly nodded her head affirmatively. Sanchez said, “If she doesn’t start any shit there won’t be any. I don’t have a lot of time before I catch my flight back to London, so I hope I don’t have to repeat myself.” 

“Speak your piece and then get out of here, “Villanelle replied. “I don’t want to be breathing the same air as you any longer than I have to.” 

Sanchez grinned and placed a document on the table. “Read it and weep, assassin.” She slid it across the table where it dropped into Villanelle’s lap.

“Fucking BITCH!” she yelped and stood up. Damn the consequences, Villanelle was ready to shoot Sanchez and worry how Eve would react later. She was unprepared for the MI6 agent’s dismissive laughter. 

“You wanna go? You wanna do this right now, Villanelle?” Sanchez had a crazed look on her face. “You think bullets bounce off you, killer? Let’s find out.”

“Would you two please sit down?” Eve interjected in an oddly quiet voice. “You’re both being colossal, inflamed assholes. Let’s get to it, okay?” 

“Sorry, Eve,” a chastised Sanchez said. “I’ll behave if she does.”

Villanelle said nothing but stomped away to the bar. “I don’t know where the shit waitress is, so I’ll go get our drinks.”

“Nothing for me, V.” Sanchez said cheerily. “I don’t like to drink and fly.” Villanelle stared at Sanchez but said nothing. 

“Rosalyn…”

“Don’t ask me to be nice to her. She’s a fucking psycho killer and she needs to be put down like a sick dog. I like you, but I don’t like what she does to you.”

“She doesn’t do anything to me I don’t want, Rosalyn. We love each other and we’re trying to figure out if we can live with each other. Please don’t make this any tougher on me than it already is.”

Sanchez shook her head and placed her hand over Eve’s. “Baby, I know you think you love her, but you thought you loved Nico too. You got bored with him. What are you going to do when she gets bored with you?” 

That was a thought Eve had spent more than a few nights starting up at the ceiling and fearing the worst-case scenario while Oksana rested peacefully in her arms. Damn Rosalyn for voicing them out loud.

“Survive. Move on. Right now, it’s the not-knowing what we have that is making this difficult. But it's getting better. She's changing, Rosalyn. I can see it!”

"Yeah, sure thing, Eve. You keep telling yourself that. Hopefully, that Russian cunt won't shoot you in the back of the head next time to prove I was right and you were wrong," she scowled. 

Villanelle came back with a glass of wine for Eve and a vodka neat for herself. Her face was still affixed in a menacing scowl. “What’s in the folder?” she said jabbing her finger.

“It’s all we know about the two jerkwads I killed. There’s not a whole lot there, but you can bet there’s others out there looking for her,” she said jerking a thumb toward Eve. “They know she is here in New York and they’ll be coming for her.”

“We are leaving this weekend, Rosalyn. I have one last meeting tomorrow and then we're out of here. I'm not sure where to next, but I've got some ideas about it."

"Well, I certainly hope you bother to tell me, Eve. It would be nice to know how warm I have to pack in case we end up in Alaska in the middle of fucking winter," Villanelle said with a nasty sneer. 

"I thought you Russkies liked the cold. Isn't it winter year round in Moscow?" Sanchez jabbed. Villanelle's eyes narrowed and something primal and pissed off was about to emerge. When it did, there wouldn't be a living soul left standing.

"I tell you what you need to know when you bother to listen to me, Oksana. This isn't the first time I've told you what came next after New York.” Eve said with a disgusted look. “It's just the first time you bothered to give me a response, and Rosalyn, stop trying to provoke a fight with her. I've made my choice and I'm sorry if it hurts to tell you, but it wasn't going to be you. It never was. It was always Oksana."

Villanelle couldn't conceal her surprise, which faded to a sense of triumphant joy. Sanchez did conceal her disappointment. She had hoped Eve might have come around to her, but she doubted she could supplant the former agent's object of obsessive desire. Neither Villanelle or Sanchez offered any other response. Eve stared at both of them as Sanchez drained the remainder of the glass and crunched an ice cube between her teeth. She’d be damned if she would give Villanelle any indication of her hurt.

“I wish I could stay, Eve, but MI6 wants me back tomorrow. Someone took a run at Brock and his wife and they were able to take out the gunman, but it was too close for comfort. I’m going back to watch over him and hunt down the bastards.”

"Oh fuck! Is he alright?"

"Yeah. His wife took the gun away from the creep, pistol-whipped him and then she shot dead-bang between the eyes." Sanchez laughed. "She's one hardcore wifey. Stand by your man and all that crazy shit." 

"That does sound rather hardcore," Villanelle nodded in agreement. Eve marveled how all it took to get on Oksana's good side was to mention a badass woman beating the shit out of a rotten man. "I would very much like to meet this Pamela Brock one day."

Sanchez looked at Villanelle momentarily confused, but shrugged in response. "Yeah, I guess so. Well, this is _vaya con dios, mi amiga_. Shit is poppin' off back across the pond and I need to get back. I won't say I understand what you and...her...have together, Eve, but I see a smile on your face. You look fitter and happier than I've ever seen you before. Something about her must be good for you."

"Thanks. I'm sure that must have hurt for you to admit, Sanchez." Villanelle said dryly. 

"You have no idea, Villanelle." Sanchez replied. 

“I understand, Rosalyn. I knew you would be leaving soon, but I’m still going to miss you.” 

Eve didn’t miss the dirty look Villanelle gave her, but she enjoyed giving the younger woman a reminder she wasn’t the only one in this relationship who appealed to both the same and opposite sex. For her part, Villanelle turned her back and tossed down her drink as Eve walked Rosalyn outside. She didn't want to see the two women exchange a tight embrace and a light kiss on the lips. When the taxi rolled up , she missed Rosalyn slipping a slip of paper into Eve's hand. 

”That’s my new phone number. Make sure the psychopath doesn’t find it, okay?”

"If it doesn't work out with her, give me a call, Eve. I'm not going to put my life on hold waiting on you, but I'll never forget you were the woman who made me think about doing so," Sanchez whispered in Eve's ear. They wrapped each other in a tight embrace and Sanchez dipped Eve back and kissed the smaller woman long and deep. Then she pulled away, slipped in the back seat and disappeared in the Manhattan traffic. 

The list of people Eve felt any emotion for was a short one, but Sanchez had made it. She turned and returned to the bar to rejoin the woman who headed the list. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whether by ride-share, cab, bus, or subway, it should have taken Eve no longer than an hour or so to reach the law office of Callie McCarthy and Associates. By the time she actually arrived, it had taken two-and-a-half hours. 

Eve had walked seven blocks in the wrong direction, backtracked three blocks in the right direction and changed cabs twice and a subway ride once before she was confident she had lost any human trackers. 

Villanelle had received a call for some urgent "business" that had to be immediately attended to and Eve knew better than to grill her for details. She could wait for the evening news to find out if the police were looking into a shocking murder in broad daylight of some made wiseguy or a drug dealer looking to expand their turf or a disloyal mob enforcer who was looking to cut a deal with prosecutors to rat out their boss.

This was how Villanelle paid their bills and it concerned Eve that these low-rent hits might be dulling the assassin's senses as well as her spirit. 

If killing became boring and trite for an international assassin with a flamboyant sense of style, she might have to look elsewhere for excitement and Eve felt a pressing need to provide her girlfriend with an alternative. She was hopeful this lawyer might be an entry into the sort of purposeful work that might buoy Villanelle's sense of self and restore the thrill of the kill for her lady love. 

The attorney’s name was Callie McCarthy and shewas the second of the five numbers Brock had given to Eve before her exile from England. The first she had made contact with not long upon touching down in the states. He turned out to be a mysterious procurer of everything from weapons to the current location of one particular Russian assassin who was killing wiseguys and street gang members at the direction of a few fat godfathers in the back of a Queen restaurant. 

He called himself The Handyman and he traded in guns, knives, explosives and very useful information. You didn't find him. You called his number and he found you.

"If Brock vouches for you, that's all I need. His marker is always good with me and his line of credit is as wide as an elephant's ass," he said with a hearty laugh. He looked like a sumo wrestler but he spoke like he ran a bowling alley. Eve couldn't even begin to speculate how someone like Brock ever met The Handyman and he wasn't volunteering any information. He had shown up at Eve's hotel room one night when Sanchez was out with two suitcases full of guns. She wanted some protection for her first meeting with Villanelle since Rome. He gave her two guns and waved off her efforts to pay him for them.

"This one is for free. If you like the quality and reliability of my guns, we can do business in the future. Take whatever you want."

Now Eve was standing in front of a renovated loft which had been converted into McCarthy's law offices. Two armed guards checked her identification, while they waved a metal detector wand over her body. She had brought along a change of clothes to switch out in the ladies restroom. When she emerged, she came out in a conservative blue suit and sensible shoes, Eve walked over to the receptionist.

"Good afternoon. My name is Miss Park. I have an 4:00 pm appointment with Ms. McCarthy. " The receptionist thanked her and placed her briefcase and shoes behind the front counter. She looked up to see a tall Black man in a designer suit coming down the steps. 

"Good afternoon, Ms. Park. My name is Shareef and I'm a security consultant for Ms. McCarthy. She is waiting for you in her conference room. Can I offer you a hard seltzer or water or juices? Perhaps some coffee or tea?"

"No thank you," she demurred. She was taking in the way his finely tailored suit could not hide his built and muscular arms and broad shoulders. He was pretty easy on the eyes. Or at least he would be if she still liked men and Eve thought she was thoroughly happy living la vida lesbian. So why was she getting so hot and bothered over this gorgeous man?

"Elevator or stairs?" Shareef asked. 

"Which floor is the conference room on?"

"Third floor, Miss Park."

"Let's take the stairs."

"Good choice. I always take the stairs." he said and flashed a dazzling smile that only complimented his nicely-trimmed mustache and beard. As bodyguards went, Shareef was an impressive specimen. 

They entered into the all-glass conference room where a petite young woman was waiting. "Miss Park, this is Ms. Callie McCarthy." The attorney stood up and extended her hand to Eve. She was wearing a black pencil skirt, a white shirt with pinstripes. She was a brunette who moved gracefully in six-inch stiletto heels. She was trim and fit and through her designer eyeglasses, Eve saw deep blue eyes that seemingly missed nothing. 

"Thank you, Shareef. Hello, Miss Park. Please call me Callie."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Callie, and Eve is fine. They shook hands as Eve noticed how delicate and slim her fingers were. She had obviously spent a lot on her nails and she smelled divine. Something faint, but noticeable. She'd have to ask what kind of perfume it was.

"May I offer you something to drink? It's after 4:00 so if you would like I can get you a cocktail or wine. Red or white?" 

"Um...white I think. A riesling would be nice." 

"Shareef? On your way out, would you ask Shannon to bring us two glasses of riesling and the bottle? Thanks so much," she winked at Eve. "I hate standing on formality. Let's have a few drinks and talk." Shareef nodded and stepped out as Eve watched him go.

Eve sat down as Callie tapped a button on a remote that dimmed the lights a bit and changed the music from classical to jazz. "I don't really like classical all that much, Eve. Too damn cold and sterile for me. I like jazz much better. Are you familiar with John Coltrane?" 

"Not really. I've never listened to much jazz. My ex-husband preferred pop music and that's pretty much all I've heard for a long while. "

"Well, he denied you an opportunity to appreciate some great fucking music, This is <em>Blue Trane</em> and that's Coltrane on the saxophone. Some people think he did his best work with Miles Davis, but I prefer his solo work. Did you know Miles Davis beat up women? He admitted it in his autobiography. Maybe that's another reason I prefer Coltrane."

Shannon entered pushing a small cart with two glasses, an opened bottle and coasters. She smiled at Eve, placed the items on the table and left the two women alone. 

"Well, Eve you've certainly come a long way and gone through quite a lot for this meeting. Instead of me babbling away since I like to hear the sound of my own voice, why don't you tell me what I can do for you?"

Eve hesitated. "That's hard to say, Callie. What did Mr. Brock tell you about me?"

Callie kicked off her shoes, leaned back in her chair and propped her feet on the table. "Everything," she said. "He told me everything about you and your lady. Now I want you to tell me about yourself, so I can hear your side of the story."

Between sips of the riesling, Eve boldly decided to tell it all. How Carolyn had recruited her to track down a mysterious assassin. How Villanelle had murdered her best friend and then her boss. How she had broken into her house for a weird dinner date. How she had pursued Villanelle all the way to Russia and then Paris where she stabbed her. How she began to mentally unravel and start to lose control of her inhibitions and how she feared she was losing her mind as well. How Carolyn had brought her back to find another female assassin as well as setting up a hit on herself to draw a recovered Villanelle out of the shadows. How her marriage had crumbled and how she pushed away every remaining friend. And of course about the entire Rome shitshow and how Villanelle had shot her and left her to die. 

She told it all, and by the time she was finished, she had missed where Callie had ordered up a second bottle. Either she was an excellent listener or she had turned into a huge blabbermouth. The last rays of sunlight were beginning to give way to the approaching darkness. She had been talking for over an hour and hadn't even noticed.

"That's one hell of a story, Eve. You had more shit happen to you in a year than most people see in a lifetime." Callie sounded stone cold sober and if Eve had even a mild buzz she didn't feel it.

"I don't know why I unloaded all this on you. Fuck, I just met you and I spilled my guts." she laughed nervously. "Maybe that's why I was such a shitty spy."

"You don't have to be embarrassed, Eve. What happened to you is fairly common. You recognized there was something missing in your life, but it took Villanelle to enter it for you to see that void. If she hadn't you'd probably still be at MI5 doing a job that bored you shitless and mired in a marriage that was safe, but every bit as boring."

"So you're telling me all the pain and blood and death was a rite of passage or something, Callie?" Eve said with a bit more edge in her voice than she intended.

"Not at all. I'm just saying I'm familiar with women who have to burst out and get away from their safe little lives. Most times they just run off with someone they met at their yoga class. You just happened to choose the bonus package with all the options including a tall, drop-dead gorgeous international assassin with a hair fetish."

That got a laugh out of Eve and it helped break the tension a bit. Callie moved to a chair closer to Eve and sat down. "Now it's my turn. Let me tell you about this law practice. It's a special type of law I'm interested in and everyone who works here with me is down for the program. If they aren't I bounce their asses out of here and they go find another program. I hope you and Villanelle will consider joining us."

Eve leaned forward and listened intently as Callie stood up and strolled around the conference room.

"We only handle cases where women have been victimized by sexual assault, domestic violence, sexual harassment, blackmail, revenge porn, stalkers and other incidents where they are being attacked by perverts, assholes, psychos and trolls. We go after them as well as the systems that enable them to do this shit. That means if you're a school teacher and the principal is making inappropriate comments or demanding you give him a little something something in exchange for his recommendation, not only are we gonna sue the fuck out of him, we're gonna sue the fuck out of the school system that hired him in the first fucking place."

“I represent women whom have been failed by the legal system. Women who try to play by the rules and end up getting screwed. I don’t negotiate. I either beat the bastards in court and win or I put them through hell and back before I lose. I want them to know they have been in a fight. They’re punks and mama’s boys and pampered little needle dick creeps. Real women scare them. Strong women make them weak."

Callie smiled pleasantly and refilled their glasses. Her smile remained affixed as she traced a finger over the glass. Eve found all this interesting, but she couldn't see why Brock would have recommended someone like her and Villanelle to a law firm. "I'm not sure I understand, Callie. I've explained what it is Villanelle does. How can you afford her? I'm good at investigating, but even you can't foot the bill for a professional killer like Villanelle."

Callie looked amused. “You appear to be laboring under a misconception, Ms. Park. Please allow me to dispel it. We are not going to get into a bidding war for your services. We are not interested in competing with other interests. This is not a negotiation.”

“That what is this then?” Eve asked making no effort to conceal her irritation. “I was under the impression that you were a serious person. If you’re not, then why am I here? Is this Mr. Brock jerking me around one more damn time?”

“Not at all. Brock was impressed by you. He had to be to give you my contact information. He believes there’s more to you than being an obnoxious and pushy bitch you are being at the moment. Killing a member of The Twelve followed by a rogue MI6 agent scored you a few points with the old man. Setting up your ex to be killed sealed the deal. You’re exactly the sort of lethal, ruthless, take-no-shit type we need.”

Eve’s mouth dropped open. How did Brock figure out she had tricked Sanchez into killing Niko? She had been so _careful_.

Callie laughed and said, “I’ve seen that look on every guilty client I’ve ever had. That moment of revelation when they find out despite how clever they thought they were, there’s people like Brock and me who see through the fog and know exactly who benefits most when a spouse dies suddenly and violently.” 

Suddenly, Eve needed a refill. She hoped she didn't look too obvious when she reached for the bottle.

“All we are offering you is an opportunity to do something neither of you have exhibited any interest in doing: putting the welfare of other women in need before your own. We will pay you well and we will protect you from your enemies. The Twelve very much wants you both dead and they know you have fled Europe. That is their stronghold, but they are considering whether or not to make the contract on your heads go global. If and when they do, there will be nowhere you can go without a target on your pretty little heads."

"I am the sole partner of this law firm, Eve, but that's not to say I don't have partners. I represent a group of powerful women who share my hatred of the psychos who make life hell for us and every other female. They call themselves The Trust and I am one of their representatives. We defend women and we do so as Malcolm X once said, 'By any means necessary.' Over time we have come to understand we weren't serious about what that meant. 

“We would go so far and then no further. Because we were trying to be nice girls playing by the rules written by men to control and subjugate women. That’s over now. Now we're going to go all the way and we want you to join us."

Eve regained her composure and responded, "This sounds both purposeful and awfully vague, Cassie. What does 'by any means necessary' mean? How far are you wanting to go, and most importantly, what is it you think we need you for that Villanelle and I can't do for ourselves? I'm not buying any of this."

"Can you save your asses from The Twelve and MI6, Eve? You guys can run as long and as far as you want, but when they come for you, they will come in overwhelming numbers with irresistible force until they get you. You know that's no lie. They've already tried to kill you twice Eve and your super-assassin never saw them coming. Sanchez did, but now she's gone home."

Callie stopped and placed her hands palms down on the table. "I don't have to sell you on this, Eve. This shit sells itself. You know I'm right and if Villanelle were here instead of shooting some dumb son-of-a-bitch over in New Jersey and dumping his body in the river somewhere she'd tell you I'm right too."

She didn't know where Villanelle was, but New Jersey seemed as likely a place as ever, so with nothing smart to say Eve kept her mouth shut to avoid saying anything dumb.

“We can put an end to this. We can call off the dogs so you and Miss Astankova can go about your business without worrying about a bomb under your car, your throats slashed while you sleep or being beaten to death in a torture chamber as it is live streamed on the Dark Web.”

Eve’s jaw worked but she remained silent, so Callie pressed her point.

“This is not hyperbole, Eve. This is your fate and I think once you cut the shit and use your considerable critical thinking skills, you know I’m telling you the truth.”

Eve was startled, but she fought off the urge to show how much she was. Instead, she lifted her glass and sipped the wine, “How do you propose to do that, Callie? You have a crew so notorious even government spy agencies and shadow organizations fall in line when you tell them to.”

“Pretty much, yeah.” she replied in . “Particularly so when we have allies _in_ those groups. Powerful allies.”

Now Eve was surprised and this time she couldn’t contain herself. “What the fuck are you talking about? How can a lawyer and a handful of rich old ladies make the pit bulls The Twelve is siccing on our asses roll over and play dead? This is bullshit!”

Callie placed her glass on the table and leaned back in her chair. “Are you a little drunk, Eve or are you always such a complete asshole when you get confused?” 

“Okay, now you’re starting to piss me off, Callie.”

“And you’re starting to bore me, Eve. I heard you were smart, but you’re blowing your image. I am not Carolyn Martens and I am not trying to fuck you over. The only reason you and Villanelle aren’t already dead is that you caught the two groups who want to see you dead in a period of transition. Once they get their internal matters resolved, they’ll get back to cleaning up the mess Martens made and that will be the end of your little _Thelma and Louise_ story. 

Eve opened her mouth, realized she still had nothing intelligent to add to the conversation and shut it instead. She stared daggers at the attorney, as she realized she was not operating from a position of strength, but Callie was. 

“Eve, I am not the enemy.” she said. “You’ve got plenty of those. I can be an ally, but I’m not going to offer you anything you aren’t ready to receive. I have a proposal for you. Think about it, consider it, but most importantly talk to Villanelle about it and discuss it like partners, lovers, or whatever the hell she is to you. Don’t just respect how deadly she can be. Consider how much she cares for you and give her the respect she deserves.”

The rational side of Eve’s brain kicked in and overruled the emotional side. “What do you know about how much I feel for Oksana? That’s a little presumptuous, wouldn’t you agree, Callie?”

“Yeah, it is, but you know I’m right, Eve. You’re older than Villanelle, but you aren’t necessarily wiser. You’re wading in the murky waters of espionage, murder for hire, and not being able to figure out if today’s friend will be tomorrow’s foe. Martens really did a number on you and you’re left with some serious trust issues. I get all of that.”

She slid her glasses off, leaned forward and looked into Eve’s eyes. 

“You were a mouse and now you’re trying to be a lion. You have killed and it didn’t ruin you. You were already headed to wherever you’re going, Eve and Villanelle accelerated the progress. But let’s not pretend you’re a bad-ass You can’t fight the way she can. You can’t defend yourself the way she can. You are training hard to be an asset instead of a liability to your woman and that’s terrific, but time is your adversary and you don’t have enough of it.”

“Give me the bottom line, Callie.”

“ _I’m_ the bad -ass here. I go after these motherfuckers and I sue the shit out of them. I don’t allow my clients to sign NDA’s or settle with them and I tell them from the jump, I don’t negotiate. Not with terrorists or rapists. I clean up the scum, not cut a deal with them.”

Callie's eyes were blazing bright and her soft features had hardened like freshly poured concrete. Eve had seen that look before. From Villanelle when she killed someone and lately more often when she looked in the mirror in the morning. 

“NDA?” Eve frowned. “Why does that sound familiar? What’s that stand for?”

“It’s a non-disclosure agreement. I’m sure as a former intelligence agent you had to sign something similar swearing you won’t disclose state secrets. What it means in a court of law is if means is when I fuck you over because I like to grab your butt or make you have sex with me in exchange for a job you want, you can sue me. For the guy’s part it means, he gives you money to go away so all his shit doesn’t come out in open court and you shut up forever about how he fucked you over. You can’t talk about it. You can’t write a book about it. No matter if it’s a big-time Hollywood star, movie producer or the President of the United States. You take the money and they buy your silence.”

“It’s great for the men. They get to continue doing their evil shit and their company will find a way to write off on their taxes the expense of paying off the victim for her silence. It’s a win-win for both the defendant and the plaintiff. It doesn’t do dick to help the next woman who will be victimized”

Her natural curiosity now aroused, Eve pushed for a little more detail. “This sounds like a crappy situation all the way around, but I’m still not hearing what you want from us.”

“You’re familiar with the #Me Too movement, Eve?”

“Of course I am. I think it’s great.”

“It is. But it’s not enough. There are too many shitty men getting away with murder and worse.”

“What’s worse than murder?”

“Rape. Rape is worse. Especially if you’re a child. When you get murdered, you’re dead and gone. Only your family mourns you. When you’re raped and your rapist never is punished and even thrives, you are assaulted a second time by the justice system and you live with it forever. You get better, but you never get over it. And you shouldn’t.”

“What needs to be done that #MeToo hasn’t done?”

Callie paused dramatically and thoughtfully. Then she downed the remainder of her glass and licked her lips. Eve thought she looked very sexy when she did.

“What #MeToo needs is teeth. Sharp fucking teeth that bite and chew and rip a dickhead’s balls off. What is needed is a black ops team. A team of special operatives that goes after the pimps, pornographers, rapists, pedophiles, human traffickers, the bankers who launder their dirty money, the lawyers who defend them and the judges and politicians who protect them. The worst assholes in a world full of them”

“You mean…”

“I do. Women standing up and fighting back against evil men. I need someone who can finish the job and take out the trash I can’t. Take them out permanently.” Calle reached into her jacket’s breast pocket, produced a black flash drive and handed it to Eve. 

“What’s this?”

“Motivation. Incentive. It's encrypted, so you’ll need the passcode.”

“Which is?”

“E-M-A-S-C-U-L-A-T-E.” was the reply. “Look, I have a dinner appointment I can’t be late for, so if you’re interested call my secretary, I'll send over the necessary documentation, then we’ll fly you both out to Los Angeles.”

“What’s in Los Angeles?”

“The board of directors. They want to meet you in person. They are the women I work with and who you’d be working with too if you choose to. The women who can give you the money you want and the protection you need. They can give you something you can’t get from anyone else.”

“And what might that be? 

  
“A purpose, Eve,” she said as she rose to her feet. “That’s something you need.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Eve was preoccupied by the time she returned to their newest rented townhouse. She entered the house and tossed her keys on the table. She said nothing as she walked into the kitchen where Villanelle was putting away the groceries she had purchased for dinner. Eve grabbed a bottle of spring water and twisted the cap off. 

“How did your talk with the attorney go? Are we going to be working for her?”

“With her, but not for her. A lot of it depends on you.”

“Me? What depends on me?”

“It depends if you want to know why you’re killing someone.”

“Oh.” Villanelle replied. She took in this bit of information and began to make sense of it. "Well, I was going to make dinner. Would you like to sit down and have a glass of wine?" 

"Not right now," Eve mumbled. "I need a little 'me' time, baby." Before Villanelle could reply, Eve had trotted upstairs. Eve turning down wine? That must have been one hell of a talk. 

The remainder of the evening was spent with the two women engaged in separate activities in separate rooms. Eve popped inside long enough to change into her running clothes and took off for a five-mile jog without so much as a “bye-bye.” Villanelle peeled off her clothes and drew a bath for a nice, long soak. 

Once Eve returned she went straight to the shower and then retreated to the second bedroom she had set up as an office where she hunched over a laptop and began scribbling furiously on a legal pad.

Villanelle said nothing as she was becoming accustomed to Eve’s silences. She didn’t like this part, but she gritted her teeth and dealt with it. Eve was a researcher and equipped with the detective skills Villanelle, as a woman of action, was uninterested in. Details and logistics were boring.. Her thrill came from the kill. 

She busied herself making dinner and poured another glass of wine. While the meal was coming to perfection in the oven, Villanelle moved soundlessly upstairs and stood in front of the closed door where Eve was working. 

Or was she? Villanelle could hear the unmistakable sound of Eve crying…no... _weeping_ , actually. Eve hadn’t cried once since they had reunited. This was disturbing behavior.

She reached for the door knob only to snatch her fingers back as she heard Eve gasp, _“Oh, God, no! Please God, no!_ ”

She ducked back down the steps as the door flew open and Eve ran to the bathroom gagging and retching. Villanelle heard the unmistakable sound of the older woman puking and throwing up. She listened until Eve’s dry heaves turned back into muffled sobbing, then she crept back downstairs. 

It didn’t seem likely Eve would have much of an appetite tonight. Villanelle sighed and removed a golden brown turkey from the oven. She wasn’t all that familiar with the Thanksgiving holiday, but she was thankful to have Eve back in her life, so she thought she would give it a try. 

She put the turkey on top of the oven to cool. She had planned to start on the potatoes and vegetables, but there didn’t seem to be much of a need anymore. Villanelle dimmed the lights in the house and settled on the couch. The night’s entertainment was supposed to be _The Incredibles 2_ because she had loved the first one so much, but now she decided it might be best to just drink until Eve came downstairs or she got drunk. 

Whichever came first. 

Some 90 minutes later, Eve trudged down the steps. She saw the back of Villanelle’s head resting on a pillow, apparently falling asleep. Eve got a pleasing whiff of the still warm turkey and cut off a slice. Absolutely delicious. She would expect nothing less from Oksana. She poured herself a glass of wine and walked over to the couch where her girlfriend was nodding off. Carefully, she slipped next to her on the couch and rested her head in Oksana’s lap. She was rewarded with a soft hand gently stroking her hair and face. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you upset?” Eve wrapped herself even tighter in Oksana’s grasp as if she didn’t hold on a strong breeze might blow her away. 

"I was watching a video Callie gave me. It was a video of women. Women being sexually assaulted by their bosses. Women passed out due to a spiked drink and gang-raped as it is live-streamed on Facebook and uploaded to YouTube. Women who are beaten up and left bloodied or dead because they are lesbians and some assholes want them to put on a show for them. Women in Africa who are genitally mutilated or murdered by their families in Pakistan for refusing to marry some bastard they don't even know, but they are being pressured to do against their will. When they refuse they are killed for bringing "shame on their family."

Eve exhaled as Oksana listened soberly. 

"I watched the stories of women who had been drugged and assaulted and raped by famous entertainers and professional athletes. Women who were kidnapped as children and sold as sex slaves to wealthy men. Women who were tricked into doing violent pornography and discarded like so much trash when they served their purpose. I watched the victims of human trafficking who disappeared and were never seen again. I watched all of this and worse, Oksana. I watched this and I realized, if I don't DO something about it, all I am doing is giving my silent consent to this evil. I can't do that. Not anymore."

Villanelle searched the other woman's face. She looked for signs of deception or delusion or manipulation. They were not there to be found. This was the real Eve. In all her authenticity and agency and it intrigued Oksana. It was...interesting to her.

"Eve, I'm not unsympathetic to these women or their suffering. Perhaps I would have been at one time, but since I met you I have become aware of things I would never have paid attention to. My world consisted of killing, buying things, eating wonderful food and fucking anyone I wanted. There was no space for anything else. "

"But now...there is?" Eve asked.

Villanelle took Eve's hands in her own, "Where before there was no space, I am making space now. Before you there was only what Villanelle wanted and now there is what Eve wants as well. I am not certain how we can change things the way you want them to change, but I am willing to try. I will try anything, go anywhere and do whatever as long as I'm going with you. I swear to you on my life. You will never have to go alone as long as we are together."

“Do you ever think about the people you’ve killed, Oksana? Do you ever regret ending their life?” 

Villanelle continued to stroke Eve’s face, but stopped and lifted her bodily until their faces were close. 

“Almost never. I regret killing Bill. I regret I hurt you by killing your friend.”

“But if he hadn’t been my friend? What then?”

“Then I would never think about him at all. I am not a serial killer, Eve. I do not relive my kills and fantasize about them. I do what I am paid to do and then I do my job. I do not dwell on it.”

“The dead are dead to you. Is that right?”

“Yes. I do not need to go over it. It happened. I did my job. I let it go and move on. This is how I remain sane.” 

Eve chewed on that for a moment and then she exhaled, “Then I have a question for you.”

“Which is…?”

“Do you have a conscience? Do you feel guilt? Remorse? Regret?”

“Eve--- _I don’t know_ . I don’t know if I feel _any_ of those things. I don’t even know if I even want to. I’m afraid if I did, I wouldn’t be able to do what I do.”

Eve spread her arms wide and wrapped her arms tightly around Villanelle’s back. The only sounds for the next few minutes were soft kisses being exchanged and mutual sighs of satisfaction. 

“Baby, I want to work with Callie and the women backing her. I think I need to do this.”

“Why? What are they doing that is so important to you? If it’s money, I can take care of us.”

Eve sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest, “Yes, I know you can and I love you for wanting to take care of me, but this isn’t about money. They are offering the same sort of money you’re making now to kill drug dealers and snitches. Carrying out hits on lowlives on the direction of other lowlives. It’s not what you should be doing.”

“What should I be doing, darling?” she replied warily. “Do you want me to stop killing for money? Do you want me to stop killing entirely?”

“No, my pretty baby. I don’t. Exactly the opposite, really. I _do_ want you to kill.”

Villanelle’ looked utterly baffled. “Well, this comes as a surprise. I know you dislike me working for criminals to kill other criminals. So if who am I supposed to kill then?”

Ever smiled and pressed a quick kiss on Oksana’s startled mouth. 

“I want you to kill the scum of the earth. I want the men who get away with murder to be murdered themselves. I want the men who brutalize and terrorize women and stalk them and kidnap them to sell their bodies to suffer and suffer well before they leave this life screaming for their mommies. I want you to kill these sick fucks who deserve to die.”

  
"What else?"  
  


"I want to help you do it."

"What else?"

"I want to hear them beg and plead. I want to watch them as they try to bargain for their worthless lives. I want them to curse and cry and try to run or fight."

"What else?"

"I want to kill them myself and I want you to show me how to do it. I want to do it together and I want to do it myself. I want to kill, Oksana."  
  


Oksana grinned gleefully. "Then I will teach you, darling Eve. I will teach you and then I will watch you when you kill. Would you like that, Eve?"

"Yes. More than anything. I don't want to be Villanelle. You are. I want to be Eve. I want to be a Killing Eve."

\----------------------------------------------------------- **Postlude** \-----------------------------------------------------------

House arrest was such an odd concept, Carolyn thought. She sat at her dining room table as the three teams of bored guards wandered the premises. 

Outwardly, nothing much had changed about her daily life. She was in meetings and debriefings daily, but instead of operational, they were interrogations. They came to her in teams. They asked slightly different variations of the same questions. _Who are The Twelve? What do they want? When did you start working for them? Why did you start working for them?_

_Are you one of The Twelve?_ That question amused her the most. 

Of course Carolyn was part of The Twelve. She had been for years. Her position within MI6 gave her the power she needed to secure her place with The Twelve. The authority she had allowed her to play both sides against the other and for years it had worked splendidly. She kept the secrets of the British government and protected the country while the shadow organization flourished in its mission to destabilize other nations and corporations which might present a threat to their hegemony.

Then she made a rare miscalculation and two of her many enemies, Ian+ Brock and Eve Polastri had caused it all to fall to ruins. Temporarily. Carolyn wasn’t finished with those two. Not yet. She wasn’t motivated by something as petty as revenge. That was so common and base. No, it was more a sense of resentment how a jealous competitor and a mousy office rat had foiled plans and schemes years in the making. 

“Bureaucrats.” Carolyn spat. 

Being confined to her own home was preferable to an MI6 safehouse---or jail, but since Kenny had moved out (without even asking her), she was feeling a strange sense of monotony and isolation. It certainly wasn’t loneliness. Typically, she was entirely too busy for that to happen, but this being forced to the sidelines and out of the action was wearing on the master spy’s nerves. 

The doorbell rang and an agent hurried to answer. Carolyn craned her neck in mild interest as she could hear a few snatches of mumbled words exchanged as a tall young man with a neatly trimmed beard entered the room.

“Good evening, Mrs. Martens.”

“Hello, Dennis. Lovely to see you. Lovely to see almost anyone at the moment. What brings you out tonight?”

“One moment, Mrs. Martens,” The agent made a slight gesture with a wave of his hand and the guard spoke into his phone. “Now.” The red light of the mounted cameras instantly went out. 

“We can speak freely now, Mrs. Martens,” the agent said. “All the cameras and recording devices have been halted for the next ten minutes. We will alter the time stamps so that everything appears acceptable.”

“Excellent, Mr. Chamberlain,” Carolyn said as the agent poured more hot water into her cup and offered her a fresh tea bag. “What news?”

“The surveillance of Polastri and Astankova has pegged them moving between New York, Boston and New Jersey with them currently back in Manhattan. There were two attempts made by mercenaries to execute the contract but both were unsuccessful.”

“Hmmm. How unfortunate. What happened?”

“They were clumsy and Agent Sanchez intercepted them before they could eliminate Polastri.”

“I see Brock chose well when he selected her to be Eve’s bodyguard. How soon until she arrives back in London?”

Chamberlain looked at his phone. “She should be on the ground in Heathrow in the next five hours. Should we intercept?”

“No. No, I don’t want everyone associated to Polastri disrupted at the same time. It will arouse suspicions and undue attention. For now, leave Sanchez be, but know of her whereabouts at all times and if she makes contact with Polastri, I want to know it immediately.”

“Right-o, Mrs. Martens. Then there’s the matter of Mr. Brock.” 

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Mason’s little friends screwed the pooch, shat the bed and cocked things up.”

Chamberlain shrugged his shoulders helplessly, “It almost worked. They enlisted a Metropolitan policeman who had been fired earlier for stealing drugs out of the property room and reselling it. Brock is well-known for his internal affairs work, so it made him a credible target. The cop staked out Brock’s home and attempted to shoot him when he was backing the car out of the garage.”

“What happened next?”

“Pamela Brock happened. She saw the bugger hiding in the bushes and before he could get off a shot, she jumped him like a leopard, took his gun away and beat him to death with it.”

Carolyn’s thin lips puckered and she exhaled loudly. “Pamela…” 

“Do you know her, Mrs. Martens?”

She didn’t respond. She knew Pamela Brock quite well. Carolyn wanted Brock dead, but not at the cost of incurring Pamela’s enmity. That was a price too high to pay. Her direct involvement could have dire consequences for Carolyn herself as well as The Twelve. Better to keep her at bay for now. 

“Mr. Chamberlain, pull the contracts on Brock, Polastri and Astankova. Maintain surveillance on them, but I want it kept discreet. No mistakes. See to it personally.”

“Very good, ma’am. Will there be anything else? The cameras and bugs will be turning back on shortly.”

Carolyn sighed, “What’s next for me in these tiresome investigations of my work?”

“Let’s see...you have another week with MI6 and then the French and Germans want to speak with you, but we are talking about confining that to a one-day session with the Germans in the A.M. and the French in the afternoon.”

“After that?”

Chamberlain smiled. “You’ll be going to Washington D.C. The CIA, NSA, Department of Defense, and some other government officials want their crack at you. There may be a Congressional oversight committee or two as well. We anticipate this taking at least two weeks. I will be leading your security detail and the agents accompanying will be hand-picked by me personally. ”

“Well, I find the United States to be _taedium vitae_ to say the least, but this presents an opportunity to settle matters between Eve Polastri and myself,” Carolyn observed. She looked pleased, “This could work out quite swimmingly. I am looking forward to hearing Eve’s voice again.” 

“In screams of unbearable agony, Mrs. Martens?” Chamberlain quipped.

“Let’s not be naughty, Mr. Chamberlain.” Carolyn said. “Reunions should be events we view with anticipation, not trepidation or recrimination. When next Eve and I meet again, it will be a memorable event. At least it will be for me.”

\--------------------------------------------------------- **END** \------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> That's all folks.
> 
> I wanted to give E&V an ending to their hate affair and a jumping off point to start a new love affair in a new country with brand new enemies (though they aren't done their old ones yet). I don't believe Eve and Villanelle are quite in a head space to settle down to eat spaghetti and make murder babies. They aren't on a road to redemption because neither one of them is looking for it, but revenge is a possibility. Maybe even a likelihood.
> 
> First things first. With no Carolyn or Konstantin to call the shots, can E&V create a new power-sharing relationship? I'm excited to find out in the next story arc. After I get some rest because it has been a rough last few months.
> 
> I want to thank several good people who helped me immensely.
> 
> **V for Villanelle** for providing valuable and candid feedback, suggestions and much-needed encouragement in a few low moments. You are appreciated for what turned out to be a fruitful meeting of the minds. All the best in your future writing endeavors. 
> 
> **Villa De Sade** was born with a finely calibrated B.S. detector and the ability to provide deeply insightful observations on both _Killing Eve_ and how KE fanfic can build upon what Phoebe Waller-Bridge established in S1 and Emerald Fennell followed up on S2 (with mixed results). Villa De Sade, thank you for being such a ride-and-die reader/reviewer.
> 
> **goldandstunninandglitterin** is one of my Tumblr peeps and when I was hopelessly blocked on how to work in the #MeToo angle, she came along and dragged my sorry tush out of the darkness and back into the light. Appreciate you!
> 
> **lesbrarianX** because without your cogent comment on the problematic first chapter, it is possible this entire story would have died right there after I put some really silly crap in which read like a bad comic book. Sometimes you don't know you're writing junk until a kind soul with impartial eyes comes along and says, "Uhh...are you sure this is how you want to do this?"
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented. Everyone who left kudos. Everyone who read it and didn't comment or leave kudos. I'm grateful for you taking the time all the same. Nothing is learned without the reader and even a critical remark has value as long as the author can learn from it, and as this is my first fictional writing it has been quite the learning experience.
> 
> See you on the other side.


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